The Meaghan Chronicles Part I
by Highlandlass
Summary: NEW CHAPTER 10/17/02. The year is 1847, Ireland. Join me in sharing the beginning history of Meaghan Marie Kineally and a reluctant 5000 yr old immortal who became a reluctant teacher and so much more...
1. MC 1

Title: The Meaghan Chronicles I  
Author: Highlandlass  
Rating: R  
Story: Historical  
Feedback appreciated  
  
  
  
"We have found everything but too true; the accounts are not   
exaggerated - they cannot be exaggerated - nothing more   
frightful can be conceived. The scenes we have witnessed during   
our short stay at Skibbereen, equal anything that has been   
recorded by history, or could be conceived by the imagination."   
Illustrated London News: 1847 (Real Articles)  
(on the horrors of the famine)   
  
Between SKIBBEREEN and CLONAKILTY,   
CO. CORK, IRELAND   
"BLACK" 1847   
FEBRUARY.   
  
  
  
Lightening illuminated a storm-ravaged terrain of muddied hills and   
wind-whipped trees. Within the open valley could be seen a figure  
fighting against the force of the storm with slow, halting steps.   
The rain pelted against the person as it topped yet another rise,   
revealing nothing more but the same vision of rain-blurred   
mounds and valleys. Still, the slight frame pushed on, tripping   
a northerly path across the expanse.   
  
The wind grew stronger, ripping through the muddied rags   
clothing the figure, pushing the hood back to reveal the   
gaunt face of a woman. Her soaked hair wrapped against   
her cheeks, neck and shoulders, the tangled ends whipping   
in the gritty wind.   
  
Meaghan Marie Kineally forced her body to move. She could feel   
a tugging sense of despair drag her heart from her chest to   
fill her empty gullet. She swallowed, forcing her mind to ignore the   
sensation and just concentrate on what was important, what was   
necessary. Walking, just keep walking. And so, regardless of what   
lay before her, Meaghan trudged on.   
  
Her sunken eyes fell closed against the outside world, pressed   
firmly closed against it. The smell of overturned earth clung to   
the air and hung upon her muddied clothes.   
  
Her mind had shut down long before now. It was not conscious   
thought that propelled Meaghan through the tempest. It was a driving,   
primal need that clamored within her- forcing Meaghan away from where   
she had been, away from the dreams and nightmares it contained.   
  
Meaghan's body shivered against the cold, wet, and raw. She was   
empty - not only of body, but of mind.   
  
Wet mud slithered its way between her ragged clothes and skin.   
She could feel it working its way into rubbing her skin   
raw. She had suffered far too long to even care. That   
she'd noticed it happening was remarkable in itself   
  
"Sweet Jesus," Meaghan rasped, collapsing to the ground.   
  
The side of her face molded to the chilled mud. She found   
she could no longer move. Her palms lay under her chest, impressing   
deep into the muck beneath her. Her arms shook with a vain   
attempt to lift herself but her strength quickly gave out.   
  
She lay there, unable to stop her mind from wandering onto memories   
that were fragmented and sewn back together in senseless, nightmarish   
pieces. Her eyes stared out upon the world, seeing nothing more than   
half-truth visions.   
  
Dirty water coated her face as the downpour splashed into the  
muddied puddles before her. Her mouth caught some of the grime but   
she did not spit it out. She hadn't the energy for even that.   
  
Her body began to spasm. Her eyes fluttered as her heart drummed   
loudly in her ears. The increasing staccato drowned out the sound of the storm   
surrounding her. Fear gathered itself from the corners of her mind,   
collecting into an awareness of utter helplessness . She felt the racing   
speed of her heart knock against her breast bone in a building, shattering   
pain.   
  
The thunder cracked closely overhead, breaking through the rapidly   
pounding heartbeats. Her skeletal body went into spasms again,   
snapping her temporarily back to consciousness. Her gathered   
fear exploded within her mind, coating her soul in numbing   
waves.   
  
It was in her last moments of awareness that Meaghan Marie Kineally   
knew she would be free. She smiled and forced her mind to stop   
struggling as she finished her walk through the valley.   
  
*************************************************   
  
[FLASHBACK]   
  
Border of BALTIMORE AND SKIBBEREEN   
CO. CORK, IRELAND   
EARLY AUGUST: 1846   
  
  
  
  
  
"Yea must go lass, we haven't the food to feed ourselves, Yea and   
Gabriel are the only ones this pitiful farm can spare," weeped Mary   
Kineally, Meaghan's mother. "The work houses are our only hope. Yea   
and Gabriel are old enough to leave. We've got to try something...yea   
brothers, William and Danny can look after the farm. Gabe and yea   
have a chance... if yea be stayin' here, none of us will. At least both of yea   
will be guaranteed some food," explained Mary.   
  
She pulled Meaghan over to the hearth. They sat down in front   
of the low fire where a pot sat boiling. "I've loved yea like yea   
were me own babe, yea know that don't yea? When Father Aidan   
asked us to take one in, I clasped yea to me bosom, cradlin'   
your sweet face within me arms. Finally I had me a daughter," began   
Mary. She clasped Meaghan's hand between her aged ones. "I   
looked in those wee gray eyes of yours, and even then they were calm;   
sure. Yea always have been the strong one. I suppose I knew yea   
would be...me Meaghan, me mighty one. I need yea to be strong for   
me now. Be strong, remember who yea are. Yea are a Kineally,   
me Meaghan Marie.   
  
Mary folded Meaghan into her thinned arms, crushing her daughter   
tightly to her chest. She could feel her mother's boned frame pressing   
against her own. Her mother spoke again. "I love yea me lass, me   
sweet girl.   
  
"Aye, don't yea think I be knowing that," whispered Meaghan, pulling   
back some to see her mother's face.   
  
"I do know how it's been since Da's been gone. The farm be in   
a terrible shape, the potatoes barely comin' up. This bein' the way of it   
before Da died. Yea need William and Danny to work the   
field...harvestin' what little there is. It only be right for Gabriel   
and me to go. If it will give our family a chance, there be no question,  
none at all. Don't go worrin', Gabe will look after me, as I will him."   
  
Meaghan pulled the once hearty woman back into her own emaciated   
arms. She whispered against her mother's hair," Don't cry, Ma." The   
famine had already taken her father and as she looked over her mother's   
shoulder, her gaze fell onto her little brother and sister, who where   
tucked in a darkened corner of the cottage.   
  
She saw that her sister, Sarah, was not going to make it much longer.   
Lil'Sarah was already confined to a sick bed, barely any strength   
existed in the poor seven year old's body. Patrick cradled his twin   
within his own feeble arms, rocking her. Meaghan smiled as she heard   
them speaking their invented language, but her face fell as she saw   
Sarah shudder. Patrick clasped her tighter, refusing to allow her to   
leave him all alone. For Meaghan was sure he knew what was in   
store for his twin, his "siúr anam."*   
  
Meaghan's eyes watered. She couldn't, didn't, understand why God   
was destroying her family, her people! Instantly her gaze filled with   
a burning anger. 'Damn God!,' her soul cried out as she clasped her   
mother more tightly to her breast... Mary squeezed back just as hard.   
  
"Okay now lass, no more tears. We'll see each other again," soothed   
Mary.   
  
Meaghan buried her face into her mother's shoulder. She knew that her   
mother didn't believe those words... for neither did Meaghan. The   
rumors of the work houses told of how they broke one's soul. It forced   
such hard, manual labor upon the weakened Irish that most died while   
there. The people of Ireland were all just mere shadows of their former   
selves. Hunger and disease had spread its tentacles throughout the tiny   
island, making most weak and feeble before they even arrived at such   
places. Yet people went anyway, with the hope of food and shelter.   
  
* siúr anam = sister soul   
  
**************   
MID-AUGUST:1846   
Few Weeks later….  
  
Father Aidan had arranged for Gabriel and her to go and go   
they must. There was nothing but absolute death and utter despair   
left at home. The workhouses provided a sliver of hope at least,   
and so she clasped that hope to her breast.   
  
"God be with yea me children," said Father Aidan as he stood among   
the rest of the family to see Gabriel and Meaghan off. His ruddy   
face creased into a web of lines as he smiled at them.   
  
Meaghan reached up and fingered the cross around her neck, the   
desire to rip it off boiled strong within. She began to tug at it  
but controlled her actions, releasing the cross from her   
fingers.   
  
"Thank yea, Father Aidan," she replied, choking on the words.   
Meaghan reminded herself that it wasn't the Father that she was   
mad at... but she also reminded herself that he was the closest   
thing to him.   
  
She turned to her mother.   
  
"I love yea, Ma," Meaghan said, placing a long kiss a top her   
mother's forehead, then each eye, her nose and finally her   
mouth," I will miss yea."   
  
Her mother returned the kisses with just as much fervor, if   
not more.   
  
"I miss yea already me lass," said Mary smiling through her   
tears.   
  
"Good-bye," Meaghan whispered.   
  
  
  
*********************   
  
  
  
"Death is found in every paragraph; desolation in every district;   
whole families lying down in fever; hovels turned into charnel   
houses; entire villages prostrate in sickness, or almost hushed   
in last sleep."   
Ulster Journal:1847   
(summarized newspaper articles)   
  
  
between SKIBBEREEN and CLONAKILTY   
CO. CORK, IRELAND   
FEBRUARY 1847 : Present  
Over one year later….  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The rain had halted to a stilted drizzle. The wind had also   
died down to a mild roar, a shade of what it had been.   
  
Cresting a hill appeared a rider and horse. They continued on, racing   
down into the valley. The horse pounded the mud into the ground,   
splattering it against the legs of both horse and rider. The man pulled   
up the reins as they approached the valley floor.   
  
The rider stiffened in his perch, turning his head... searching. The horse   
whinnied, bucking in response to the rider's tension. The beast reared   
again, its hind hooves sliding in the mud, and throwing the rider from   
his seat.   
  
The man landed with a solid thud upon his back, the air leaving his lungs   
in a loud, painful hiss. His hat fell off, the wind whisking it away. Dragging   
himself into a sitting position, the rider glared up at the returning drizzle.  
  
A weary sigh escaped the traveler's lips as he ran a hand through   
his short, rain-slicked hair. It was now dusk and rapidly growing   
darker by the minute. Peering through the murky light he saw the   
shadowed figure of his horse standing a distance away. The animal   
was sniffing the ground, it's nose nudging at something.   
  
Eyes narrowing the man pulled himself out of the filth. He   
approached his horse and the object it had found before he had. As   
he got closer, the traveler saw a mud clad figure blindly gazing   
up at him from the mud.   
  
He reached over to his horse, sliding out a long, sharp sword   
from the confines of his satchel. Gripping the Ivanhoe handle,   
the metal guard resting securely atop his fist, he warily approached   
the stranger.   
  
He couldn't really make out what the person was, be it man or woman.   
It was cloaked in mud. The body from what he could tell, was thin and   
wasted away. The rags that the mud and rain molded to the skeletal   
frame, were indistinct. The person lay on its stomach with only its   
head turned toward him. He squatted down beside the emaciated   
body, his sword pointed in front of him. Though the figure looked   
incapable of harm, he would and never did take chances.   
  
"Help Me, "croaked the soft voice of the... woman, then her eyes   
fell shut.   
  
The man rested back on his haunches, his eyes widening in shock. He   
then fell forward to his knees as he leaned in closer... incredible but   
true, he now knew that the wretched shape before him was once that   
of a woman.   
  
***************************************************   
[FLASHBACK]   
  
SKIBEREEN, CO. CORK,   
IRELAND   
"BLACK" 1847   
LATE JANUARY: WORK HOUSE   
  
  
  
  
"Help Meee!" screamed Meaghan as a hand came over her mouth.   
  
"Shuddup you Lil' Irish 'hor," threatened the man , close to her ear,   
"or I'll 'ave your bag ah bones thrown out of 'ere faster than   
ya can spit."   
  
Meaghan struggled in the grip of the man, trying to break free.   
  
"Please, Work Officer Smith...,"pleaded Meaghan.   
  
"Agh," she cried as her skirt was lifted and her underthings   
ripped open with a knife.   
  
"Ya, you feel this ," asked the Work officer, pressing himself   
against her," I tell ya what, it's your choice. What would ya   
prefer?"   
  
"This," he asked pressing a blade hard against her stomach," or   
this?"   
  
He pushed himself further against her, his breeches stretching   
toward Meaghan's bared backside.   
  
Meaghan continuously shook, adrenaline-spiked fear coursed   
through her body. She straightened as she felt his hand slide up   
her inner thigh, but she didn't pull away. His ever present knife, rested,   
threatening against her stomach.   
  
"Yeah, that's what I thought, you Irish 'arlot!"   
  
******************************************   
  
PRESENT:EARLY FEBRUARY: 1847   
  
Meaghan felt a slap on her face.   
  
"Wake Up," commanded a voice above her. She opened her eyes   
and stared into the wall of someone's chest. She hadn't even known   
she'd been picked up. She had felt someone, something there, and   
had blindly cried out for help.   
  
"Listen to me, I need you to stand for a few moments, until I am seated on   
my horse, then I will pull you up," he ordered, rather than told. The   
man let go of Meaghan and she began to fall down, he quickly caught   
her.   
  
"Gods!" He muttered, shaking his head.   
  
"Listen. To. Me," he repeated, enunciating each word as he yelled  
over the increasing wind. He grabbed her chin within his callused   
fingers. She could feel the grime on her face pressing into her skin   
from where his hand held her. He forced her to look up at him.   
  
"I need you to stand," he ordered, squeezing some for emphasis, "Do   
you understand me?"   
  
"Yes," she croaked out," I...trying."   
  
"Try Bloody Well Harder!"   
  
He then stood her along side the horse, and by a sheer act of   
will, Meaghan stood long enough for him to get into the saddle. Her   
knees were beginning to buckle. She struggled to stand, exerting   
what little strength she really didn't have left.   
  
The sound of the horse's breath coming out in long snorts broke   
through her concentration. White clouds of steam billowed by her head   
from the horse's exhalation . Mud was being kicked up. She could feel it   
flicking against the back of her legs. The sound of the stranger's voice   
could be heard in soothing tones.   
  
"Whoa, Fury," he ordered. Meaghan heard him patting the sides of the   
horse, trying to calm it down. She could feel her legs beginning to give,   
her body loosing its lingering reserve of strength.   
  
Suddenly she felt his strong hands slip under her arms, hauling her   
up. He grabbed her from behind, pulling her muddied body to weigh   
against him as they sat a top the snorting giant.   
  
"Yah!" he yelled out, whipping the horse into a gallop.   
  
Meaghan passed out. 


	2. MC 2

CLONAKILTY, CO. CORK,   
IRELAND   
BYRONY ESTATE   
  
LATER THAT NIGHT.   
  
The next time Meaghan become cognizant of her surroundings, she   
found herself inside a warm, dimly light room immersed in   
a tub of warm water. Looking around, she saw an adjacent copper bathing   
tub. She turned her head to look about what she determined   
to be a bed chamber.   
  
There was a large set of french doors, and through them she could see  
the night stars scattered across the sky. The storm had finally  
passed. She looked back around and saw that the room's bed had   
been turned down and looked extremely inviting.   
  
Quickly, her glance spun toward the door to the room. The handle   
rattled then turned, admitting a robust woman of about fifty years   
of age. She wore an apron of some sort over a black cotton dress.   
  
"Widow's weeds," Meaghan thought as she watched the woman   
enter the bed chamber.   
  
A kerchief was tied over her graying hair, adding the finishing   
touches to her outfit. The woman rushed over to Meaghan's side.   
  
"Ohhh, yea be knowing yea self now," the woman stated, rather   
than questioned. "I can see it in yea eyes. I just stepped out to   
get the towel from the hearth, I was heatin' it for yea, lass."   
  
Meaghan continued to watch the woman as she placed the   
aforementioned towel on a nearby rocking chair.   
  
"Now, My name be Mrs. Catherine O'Shea," informed the   
woman," yea may call me Catherine."   
  
Catherine bent down, reaching beyond Meaghan's view, below the   
rim of the tub. She came back up with a bar of soap. "I am going to   
help yea bathe lass, the storm did a wretched number on yea. It's   
lucky Mr. Evan Adams found yea out there. From the way he tells it,   
he near trampled yea with Fury."   
  
Meaghan crinkled her brow in confusion.   
  
"Fury be Mister Evan's horse," Catherine explained, getting onto   
her knees," Well, anyway...he said it be lucky the lightening didn't   
get ya , way out in those open fields like yea were."   
  
Catherine lathered the soap on the cloth as she spoke. She then   
grabbed hold of Meaghan's unresisting arm and started to bathe   
her, a continuous monologue accompanying her actions.   
  
"Might bit lucky." Catherine smiled up into Meaghan's face. "Tell   
me lass, what be yea name?"   
  
Meaghan opened her mouth, her lips felt like they were glued together,   
but they slowly pulled apart.   
  
"Meaghan," she croaked, her voice hoarse, then she made a   
clearing noise and stated," Meaghan Marie Kineally."   
  
"Meaghan Marie Kineally," repeated Catherine," My but that is   
a lovely name. A lovely name for a lovely girl."   
  
"No."   
  
"No?" questioned Catherine as she got up and walked around the   
other side of the tub," Whatever do yea mean lass?"   
  
Meaghan grimaced." No....not a lovely girl...ugly."   
  
Meaghan looked down at her body. She saw how her bones poked out   
of her skin. She saw instead of arms, mere sticks. Instead of knees   
sticking out of the water, she saw points. She looked down at her chest,   
that lay under the now mud-shaded water, and she knew what she would   
find there...nothing.   
  
Meaghan jumped.   
  
"Stop it now MEAGHAN MARIE KINEALLY!" ordered Catherine   
O'Shea. Gone was the sweet person that had entered the room." I see   
yea lookin' at yea self. How yea is now, that is not a permanent condition   
young lady. Yea 're lovely."   
  
Catherine O'Shea burned her gaze into Meaghan's eyes." Yea listen   
to me, and yea listen to me good. I have seen people such as yea   
before. Me own village has death visitin' it everyday. I know what   
this blight that the Lord has chosen to give us has done to them."   
  
"I look into yea eyes, those great big gray sparks of life. Yes, sparks   
of life, I say! Others have gone through what yea have, some sufferin'   
so bad that they plead with the Lord Almighty to let them die every   
day. Yet if yea look into a person's eyes, yea can tell who are the   
strong, the survivors. Yea 're lovely Meaghan Marie Kineally, because   
in yea lass, I see a survivor, a fighter. Sure yea 're not now up to yea   
finest moment....but the passion for life is in yea...`tis in yea soul,   
yea heart. I don't even have to know yea to see it. It is in the way yea   
told me yea name, yea didn't just say it, yea declared it. Yea may feel tired   
now, but yea 're far from beaten. Yea 're lovely...not many people   
are."   
  
******************************************************************   
  
FLASHBACK   
EARLY AUGUST:1846   
  
"Yea always have been the strong one. I suppose I knew yea   
would be...me Meaghan, me mighty one."   
  
******************************************************************   
  
Meaghan stared at Catherine for a moment before tears began to slip   
from her eyes. She thought that she couldn't cry any more, but here   
she was. Meaghan took a deep breath and tilted her head, the tears   
dampened her lashes and continued to trail over her face, falling   
into the tub's water. But these were not tears of pity, but of  
resolve.   
  
"Yes, Mrs. O'Shea," said Meaghan, her voice quivering, then hardening   
in her new strength, " Yea 're right."   
  
"No."   
  
"No?" questioned Meaghan, rubbing a hand across her cheek, removing   
the remaining tears.   
  
"No....not Mrs. O'Shea...Catherine," said Catherine grabbing   
Meaghan's hand and giving it a squeeze," Catherine."   
  
Meaghan smiled and gave a light squeeze back.   
  
"Catherine."   
  
Catherine released Meaghan's hand.   
  
"Now let's get this muck out of yea hair," she said as she poured a   
bucket of warm water over Meaghan's head.   
  
  
****************************************   
  
  
"All right, I need ya to be steppin' out the tub and into the one next   
door. Come on lass, let's go," ordered Catherine as she pulled Meaghan   
up. Meaghan staggered to her feet, struggling to hold herself upright. The room   
temperature was cooler than the tub water and Meaghan began to   
shiver.   
  
"There, that's a girl," crooned Catherine as she helped Meaghan over   
to the other tub, then lowered her into it. Meaghan dropped herself quickly   
into the warm water. " We got most of de dirt off yea body and hair, now   
we are going to give yea a good cleanin' with that hair. "   
  
Catherine continued on with her ministrations. Meaghan sleepily opened   
her eyes and looked up at Catherine.   
  
"Thank yea," she said as Catherine massaged her scalp, the soap   
foaming around her head," I don't know why yea 're doin' this..."   
  
"Why," repeated Catherine, stopping for a moment to lean over   
Meaghan's shoulder," Why, because Mr. Evan found yea and asked to   
help yea recover. He is such the gentleman. He would never leave   
someone out like that."   
  
"Not every gentleman would do what he is doing," whispered Meaghan,   
closing her eyes.   
  
"That is true enough," replied Catherine, going back to the job of   
Meaghan's hair," but Mr. Evan, he is not one of those "new" found   
gentleman. He is made of older values."   
  
Catherine finished washing her hair, and poured warm water over   
Meaghan's head, rinsing the suds out.   
  
"Now, we need to get yea out of the tub, are yea feeling strong   
enough to stand for a moment," asked Catherine, concern in her   
voice.   
  
"I will try," replied Meaghan. Catherine grabbed a hold of Meaghan's   
hand and helped her up.   
  
"Lean on me back as I lift yea legs out of the tub," ordered Catherine   
as she leaned over. Meaghan complied. Soon she stood on the wooden   
floor, a towel wrapped around her, as she held on to Catherine.   
  
"Wait a moment," said Catherine. She hurried over to the back of   
the bedroom door.   
  
"Here," she said as she came back quickly, holding out an overly   
large robe," Let's put this on."   
  
Catherine helped Meaghan dry off the excess water with the towel. Meaghan   
then slipped into the robe. Her body was lost within the silken folds.   
  
"Well, 'tis Mr. Evan's," explained Catherine," the best we can do   
for tonight."   
  
"Now, let's walk yea over to the bed so we can lay yea   
down," said Catherine.   
  
Meaghan wrapped her arm around Mrs. O'Shea's shoulder and   
they slowly crossed the slight distance from the tubs to the bed.   
Catherine sat her down gently, helping Meaghan prop herself up   
against the bed pillows. Mrs. O'Shea slid Meaghan's legs underneath   
the down turned covers and pulled them up to Meaghan's chest.   
  
"There."   
  
"Thank yea," said Meaghan, "It has been so long since   
I've been in a real bed, and never one as nice as this."   
  
"Yea 're welcome Lass," said Catherine, standing beside the   
bed," I am goin' to run down to the kitchen and see about some soup   
I have simmerin'. Here, drink some of this water, it's the first step to   
getting' yea back to yer finest."   
  
Catherine lifted a glass of water off the night table and held it to   
Meaghan's lips. Meaghan opened her mouth and let the water slid   
past her lips and down her parched throat. She hadn't even   
realize how thirsty she was until then.   
  
"Tut, tut, tut, not to much," ordered Catherine pulling the glass   
away," Too much will make yea sick, yea won't be able to keep   
it down."   
  
Meaghan blinked, then nodded her head.   
  
"Me husband, God rest his soul, was in a similar situation....being that   
he hadn't any food or water for a long while. Yea see, he had fallen off   
the roof of his father's old house. He was the only one living there at the   
time, so no one noticed anythin' a miss. He had been there for 'bout a day,   
unable to move. Then one day, I had to go up to his place, askin' him about   
repairing our family's roof. I was but a wee lass then, no more than nineteen   
years..., about the same as yea. Well, I found him there. He had been   
knocked on the noggin, in and out of himself. So, I nursed him back to   
health."   
  
"Yea know, he was so thankful that he married me. At least, that's what   
he liked to say, but the people of the village knew better. I was just being   
a good charitable Catholic," Catherine laughed, remembering. "T'was   
me good deed for the year. In a way, he fell for me even before he met   
me. Got to like that in a man."   
  
Meaghan smiled and Catherine smiled back. "I best get that soup for yea."   
  
Meaghan watched the door shut as Catherine left the room. The warmth of   
the covers, and the cleanness she finally felt were enough to induce her   
to fall asleep, and so she did.   
  
  
  
***************************   
[FLASHBACK]   
Border of BALTIMORE AND SKIBBEREEN,   
CO. CORK, IRELAND   
MID-AUGUST:1846   
  
  
  
  
"WAIT," she cried hobbling towards Meaghan, her breath labored.   
  
Gabriel and Meaghan had walked out of the run-down cottage, leaving   
the world they knew behind. They were a few kilometers from the   
house when Mary Kineally had run out of its front door, calling out for   
them to stop.   
  
Meaghan and Gabriel turned around, walking back towards their mother.   
Finally they stood face to face.   
  
Mary raised a shaking palm to Meaghan's forehead and slid it down. The   
pads of her weathered fingers scraped lovingly over the valleys of Meaghan's   
face. Meaghan smiled, tears falling freely upon her mother's hand.   
  
Meaghan then took her turn, repeating her mother's actions. Her fingers   
fell upon the wrinkled, dry, withered plains.   
  
"I hold yea face in me hand and in me heart," she whispered with her mother.   
  
Mary then repeated the motion with her son.   
  
Then, without a word, her mother turned from her children. Meaghan   
watched how her mother's once hearty shoulders shook under the   
onslaught of tears.   
  
Mary Kineally walked slowly back into the cottage, not once looking   
back.   
  
"Ma!!" her soul cried out to the retreating figure.   
***************************   
  
Meaghan awoke, looking around the dim room. She found Catherine sitting   
beside her on the bed, her hand raised above Meaghan's face.   
  
"What , what were yea doing," Meaghan demanded, leaning back into   
the pillows.   
  
"I was just stroken' yea curls off yea face lass, trying to calm yea down   
in yea sleep," explained Catherine," Yea were tossin' and turnin' something   
fierce. A nightmare lass?"   
  
"No, no -- a memory," said Meaghan relaxing. "Yea just spooked   
me 'tis all."   
  
Catherine looked upon Meaghan with warm eyes, then let out a sigh.   
  
"Here, lets try getting some food into yea now," suggested Catherine   
as she lifted a bowl of the promised soup from the night table.   
  
Meaghan pushed herself up into a sitting position, her arms trembling   
from the slight use of energy. She then reached up a shaking hand,   
trying to take the spoon from Catherine.   
  
"Tut, I think not," said Catherine, pulling the bowl away from   
Meaghan," Yea 're shakin' like a leaf and in no condition to be feedin'   
yea self. Now, let me."   
  
Meaghan smiled her gratitude and obediently opened her mouth.   
  
***********************************************************************   
  
MID-FEBRUARY:1847   
  
Catherine became Meaghan's constant companion as well as her nurse. She   
helped Meaghan gain back her energy, muscle, and fat by providing her   
with ample meals. It was a new experience for Meaghan, a heavenly one.   
Her once skeletal body seemed to fill out at a remarkable rate, astonishing   
them both   
  
  
"What is his name," asked Meaghan a few days after arriving at Byrony. She   
couldn't even remember what he looked like, so her curiosity was more than   
a little piqued, "the man who helped me?"   
  
Meaghan was still confined to the bed at that point, but even with the   
passing of only a few days, she had already felt immensely better than   
that storm-wracked evening.   
  
"His name," repeated Catherine," His name be Mr. Evan Adams, he's   
English I believe."   
  
"English," she gasped, sitting up straighter against the pillows,   
"the English are monsters."   
  
"Nooo, not Mr. Evan," denied Catherine," He is the finest gentleman   
I have ever met or heard tale of ."   
  
"Why, why is he helping me," asked Meaghan, confused. All she   
ever heard or saw, particularly in Skibbereen, was how the English were   
killing the Irish - killing them all.   
  
She remembered the first day that Gabriel and her walked into the city.   
  
  
********************************************************************   
[FLASHBACK]   
  
SKIBBEREEN, CO. CORK   
IRELAND: LATE AUGUST: 1846   
CITY   
  
The stench hit them even before walking into the city. Meaghan had   
thought that her village had been bad but the town was a horror her   
mind could barely comprehend. It was a sight she wasn't prepared for.   
  
The muddied streets were crowded with her fellow peasants and tenant   
farmers, yet there was a difference. As she looked at the people, her   
people, she was unable to take her eyes off of them. She saw, not so   
much men or women, but walking skeletons. Her heart dropped within   
her chest.   
  
Each step brought to Gabriel and Meaghan a view of further devastation.   
  
She saw the effects of not only hunger on these poor creatures but killer   
diseases such as smallpox and measles that spread across their skin. She   
saw children left with no energy to even run and play, a scene particularly   
familiar to her.   
  
She saw the twins, Lil'Sarah and Patrick, in all of the young one's   
countenances.   
  
She witnessed how some people's bodies rocked with the force of their   
coughing, bronchitis working its deadly dance, perhaps a desired end   
for some.   
  
  
  
There were people who lay strewn in the streets- unable to move of their   
own accord. All of the people there had come to the Work House doors,   
hoping for some kind of relief from the famine and the contagious diseases   
it lead to. They came, only to be denied entrance or help.   
  
The Work Houses were already filled to beyond capacity, yet more and more   
desperate and starving people arrived in the city of Skibbereen everyday.   
  
It was near impossible to separate the sick from the well. Hunger ravaged   
their bodies just as much as disease. Gabriel and Meaghan wove their way   
through the throng, coming to the doors of the Workhouse. Thousands   
crowded the small area, clamoring for a place inside the building. The only   
thing that guaranteed Gabriel and Meaghan's admittance was a letter of writ   
that Father Aidan had given them.   
  
"Gabe," called out Meaghan, her tears catching in her voice. She grabbed   
Gabriel's shirt. "There is so many, so many of us."   
  
"I know it, me Meaghan," he said, tears choking his voice as well. He wrapped   
his arms tightly around her as they maneuvered their way through the mass.   
  
"Yea English , yea killin' us...there be no food. The crops are dead. We are   
starvin' out here. Yea promised us. Yea promised to help us," shouted a man   
in rags, yelling at the guarded doors.   
  
******************************************************   
  
  
"...All I know lass is that he wants yea to get better, that is why he is   
helping yea," Catherine answered. "He asked me to continue as yea   
nurse until yea are recovered. And since me Edward's death, not ta mention   
Ireland's present grief....I, well... I am here. He will be back in two months   
time. He doesn't want yea to leave. His gentlemanly nature will not allow it".   
  
Meaghan fought against her knowledge of Englishman, trying to reconcile the   
man who helped her - saving her from certain death- from all that she had   
ever known and believed about the English. It was nearly impossible for   
her, but she tried.   
  
"Has his family been here long," asked Meaghan. She wondered to   
herself why this man had decided to stay on when so many of his countrymen   
had abandoned Ireland.   
  
"Oh, no. In fact, this house has been closed down for over thirty years.   
It's been maintained first by me husband, now by me son and grandson. We've   
always been taken care of rather nicely for our maintenance of the   
estate." informed Catherine.   
  
She paused, looking fondly around the room. "This place, is more   
like me own home than anybody else's. The O'Sheas have been here for   
well over thirty years put together."   
  
She pulled the rocking chair over to the side of the bed, then leaned in   
towards Meaghan.   
  
"Lord Byron, he owned this house before Dr. Benjamin Adams,   
Mr. Evan's father. I met Lord Byron once. That was when me   
and me husband were just married, in the year 1815. He had just   
purchased the estate then. Course I didn't know who he was.   
But his reputation soon spread throughout the area, even   
despite how far away this estate was from any village. He   
was a world renown poet, yea know. Never met me one of those   
before. Anyway, he hired us to take care of the place while he was   
away...which was all the time. Then we got a letter about a year later   
telling us that there was a new owner of Byrony Estate. We'd never   
met that new owner and never will.   
  
"Yea never met him, and no one's been here?" asked Meaghan,   
enraptured by Catherine's tale, "What do yea mean, 'and never   
will,' did he die?".   
  
"Nooo, never met him," she affirmed, then continued with her story.   
"We got another letter, this one only about three months ago telling us   
that the owner that we never laid eyes on, had up and died. And that his   
son would be coming to check out the estate, 'twas part of his inheritance.   
He'd been here for a little over a month. In fact he had ridden to me village   
to see about some business or such. He was on his way back to Byrony   
when he got trapped in that terrible storm. That was when..."   
  
"When he found me." finished Meaghan.   
  
"Yes, that's correct. I must say, he didn't even stay very long after   
that. In fact he left the next day, asked me to look after yea. He was very   
gentlemanly, not like those other English bast....well, not like those   
others."   
  
Meaghan sat there quiet, letting the information sink in.   
  
  
**************************************************   
  
MID-FEBRUARY:1847   
  
Two weeks after her arrival, garments arrived for her.   
  
"These just arrived by carriage today...not too long a wait. I wager   
he paid them to be rather fast with his order, seeing as yea had no   
clothes to yea person."   
  
"Ah, now we can get yea out of me that robe, make   
yea feel a wee bit more human I'd take it," Catherine prattled on   
as she spread out the three simple, yet pretty cotton dresses for   
Meaghan's view, "And here's some lovely under things to go   
with them.   
  
"My but they are nice," gasped Meaghan from the bed," the nicest   
clothes I'll ever have worn."   
  
"They are nice at that."   
  
Catherine picked up a dress of midnight blue.   
  
"This one will set well against that fine pitch hair of yours," said   
Catherine, walking over and holding the dress up against Meaghan's   
black strands. She then turned and picked up the next dress which   
was a deep russet.   
  
"And this one, this will compliment the brightness of those gray   
eyes," said Catherine holding the dress up for a better view.   
  
"The burgundy will of course, compliment the rosy flush in yea   
cheeks," continued Catherine, reaching for the last dress. "My, but he   
does have excellent taste."   
  
Suddenly a thought came over Meaghan, interrupting Catherine's display.   
  
"Catherine, has he been in here," asked Meaghan," I'm remembering. It's   
like...like I've felt him."   
  
"Yes," answered Catherine, looking at her, head cocked. "How did yea   
know. He was only in the room for a short while. He removed the baths   
that first night. It was right when I had left to get yea soup. I passed him   
in the hall on my way back up but he said yea were sleeping."   
  
"I must have been," began Meaghan, "I know I didn't see him, yet I   
remember him being in here."   
  
"'Tis strange," was Catherine's comment as she placed the last gown   
down. "Well anyway, the dresses look like they will do yea well."   
  
"Yea see, the night yea arrived I gave Mr. Evan yea measurements,   
leaving room to spare for yea recovery. He had asked me if I would   
do that for him. He was certain that yea would be staying for a while   
and he was leaving to go back to London the next day," explained   
Catherine.   
  
"I don't know how I could repay him for all of this," whispered   
Meaghan, cringing slightly as one method skirted across her mind.   
  
****************************************************   
  
  
"Yeah, ya feel this ," asked the officer, pressing himself against   
her," I tell ya what, it's your choice. What would you prefer?"   
  
  
*****************************************************   
  
  
"...sure it will. Meaghan? Meaghan, where yea listenin' to me at all, lass?"   
  
"I'm sorry Catherine , I drifted off for a spell,' said Meaghan, shuddering.   
  
"Oh 'tis all right dear," assured Catherine," Yea look like yea 're getting   
tired. Why don't I leave yea to a nice nap?"   
  
"Thank yea," said Meaghan smiling," Yea are wonderful to me."   
  
Catherine just slapped her hand away at the compliment.   
  
"Tut, tis nothing, sweet bonny girl."   
  
Meaghan watched as Catherine closed the door to the bedroom, leaving   
her alone.   
  
She then slid out of bed and walked over to the standing mirror located   
in the corner of the room. She reached up and pulled her blackened hair   
free from the loose braid that Catherine had set. The midnight curls fell   
around her shoulders. She absently pushed a strand behind her ear, out   
of her face. She saw that her body still swam inside the silk robe, despite   
the weight gain but she also took note of how her skin had taken on that   
rosy hue Catherine had mentioned.   
  
Meaghan studied herself. She untied the knotted robe and let it slip   
off her pale shoulders. She was still thin, but she was heavier than she   
had been in a long time. She let the robe continue its fall to the floor.   
  
She had been afraid to look at herself when she first arrived at Byrony,   
afraid to really see what her whole body looked like. But now she wanted   
to know how much she had healed.   
  
She examined herself, seeing curves were there used to be none. She   
ran her hands down her neck and for the first time didn't feel the corded throat   
muscles. She touched her face and didn't feel the hard bone of her   
cheeks. Her eyes, always wide and beautiful, rested on those rosy   
cheeks, those healthy cheeks. She surveyed the rest of her body and   
smiled. But her smile soon fell from her face as she remembered another   
who had looked at her body...another who had *hurt* her body.....   
  
  
  
***********************************************************************   
[FLASHBACK]   
SKIBBEREEN, CO. CORK   
IRELAND 1847   
WORK HOUSE   
  
  
  
  
  
"You brazen little 'ussy," yelled the English Work officer, slapping   
Meaghan across the face and knocking her body into the wall of his   
tiny room. "I told ya what would happen if ya gave me   
trouble," warned the man.   
  
Meaghan wept, one hand clawed against the wall, the other held her   
reddened face.   
  
"I did what yea wanted," she cried, sinking down the wall and pulling   
herself into a ball. She began to rock to and fro.   
  
"Not everythin'," was the officer's reply.   
  
He walked over to her, pulled out his pocket knife, and squatted down beside   
her.   
  
"Tell me, since you've been 'ere 'ave ya seen your brother? Gabriel, that 'es   
his name isn't it? No you 'aven't. Separation of the sexes and all."   
  
Meaghan stopped rocking, and stared at the officer.   
  
"Gabriel, yea know something about me brother Gabriel?" she questioned,   
desperation seeping into her voice.   
  
"Oh yea Lassie, I do be knowin' indeed," informed the officer, mocking her   
accent. " And I do believe he ''as been leadin' too good a life so far in 'ere."   
  
"Impossible," spat out Meaghan, unthinking. Her whole face flushed red   
with anger, "Tis nuthin' but a hell hole."   
  
The officer hit her again, knocking her head into the brick wall.   
  
"Ya watch it, Lassie," warned the officer, aiming his knife at her. " If it   
weren't for this place your starving carcass would be cluttering the streets   
of Skibereen with the rest of ya white Irish monkeys."   
  
Meaghan shook her head, rubbing it. She glared at the officer, staring   
up at his face. Her hand balled, and with a burst of energy, she jumped on   
him. The bones burst in his nose from the small but sure aim of her fist. His   
knife fell to the floor.   
  
She clawed at his face, ripping his skin open with the nubs of her finger   
nails, determined mania pushing her on.   
  
"GET OFF ME YA BITCH," screamed the officer. He wrenched her   
clinging body off of him, throwing her across the small room. She skid   
across the metal framed bed and landed on the cold stone floor, a rough   
woolen blanket tangled around her legs.   
  
Meaghan tried to remain aware, but the blows to the head and the fury   
induced hysteria were winning over.   
  
The officer wiped an arm gently across his face. He then walked over to   
her collapsed form.   
  
"Ya'll never see Gabriel again," informed the man as he snuffed back the   
blood sliding out of his nose. "He will never leave 'ere and neitha will yew."   
  
The officer reached down and grabbed Meaghan up by the neck.   
  
"What's this," he asked holding up a cross. It was the necklace that she   
had wanted to tear off her body when she was last with Father Aidan. No   
matter how much she had wanted to do it then and even now, she still could   
not. She heard Smith laugh. "Not even your Catholic God can save yew."   
  
He turned her body around to face the small window.   
  
"Yew see that moon?" questioned the officer, his putrid breath fanning   
her face. "That is the last time yew are *eva* goin'ta see it."   
  
Meaghan's eyes rounded as she felt the officer begin to squeeze her   
windpipe. Her thin body began to flail against him. He just laughed in her   
face, staring into her wide eyes, her mouth open and speechless.   
  
Suddenly the door to the room burst open.   
  
"Smith, we h'erd a commotion, what is goin on...,"began one of the other   
officers entering the room. He then froze. " Smith release 'er. Now!"   
  
Meaghan's eyes began to roll back, she was suddenly aware of the   
pressure being released from her throat. She collapsed to the floor   
again as she tried to draw in deep breaths . Her heart raced loudly against   
her rib cage. She had barely heard the other officer come in, she just   
concentrated on breathing once more.   
  
"This Irish 'ore attacked me when I came in to my room ," informed Smith,   
wiping again at his bloated face. Meaghan continued to gasp for air through   
her bruised windpipe. The content of the conversation began to filter   
through.   
  
"No," was the soft cry from Meaghan's lips.   
  
"She just went crazy," continued Smith," She's not safe ta 'ave 'round."   
  
"Is that right," questioned the other officer, narrowing his eyes at   
Smith, "Why don't you go now, I will 'andle 'er."   
  
"Yes Sir," said Smith. He bent down to retrieve his knife and as he bent   
over, he whispered to Meaghan, "Gabriel's as good as DEAD."   
  
He stood back up, facing her still cringing form.   
  
Her body may have cringed, yet she faced him head-on. She held him   
trapped for a moment in her violent gray eyes. She knew her hatred for Smith   
had to be shaper than his retrieved blade. She did not think, all she knew at   
that moment was the pure desire to kill, but she would have to settle with   
tearing into him with her eyes.   
  
"Smith?"   
  
"Yes Sir," he responded turning around and heading out of the room.   
  
Meaghan let her eyes close. She began to rock again. The other   
officer closed the door and approached her.   
  
"Now, I am not gonna 'ert ya Lass," said the other officer, "My name is   
Robert."   
  
Meaghan opened her eyes at his introduction.   
  
"Work Officer Roberts?" she questioned, her voice raspy.   
  
"No, just Robert, it 'es my first name," he answered, sitting down on the bed.   
  
Meaghan stared at him, betraying no emotion other than fear.   
  
"Now, I can only 'magine what 'as 'appened 'ere,"began Robert releasing a   
heavy sigh," and in my 'maginings it 's Smith that 'olds the blame."   
  
Meaghan said nothing, just stared at him intently.   
  
"I, unfortunately can do nothing about this," informed Robert, running a   
hand through the top of his shagged hair," He's protected by a power   
that is greater than mine. Ya will have ta leave. It is the only way you will   
be safe and Smith will save face."   
  
Meaghan continued to stare at Robert, knowing already what he would   
say. She was powerless, poor Irish. Her voice meant nothing, nothing to   
the English. She was happy to be alive, she would settle for that.   
  
"....and I am sorry..." said Robert, Meaghan refocused on what he was saying.   
  
"Me brother," asked Meaghan interrupting him.   
  
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Robert asked confused.   
  
" Me brother Gabriel, can I see him before I leave," she questioned, her   
voice soft but strong.   
  
"Oh, well," began Robert. She saw his gaze dart around the room,   
struggling for an answer," Um...well...as you are well aware, you are   
sep-rated from 'im, the men and women....I well, I will see what I can   
do. Meanwhile I'll give you some time to get yourself together. No one   
will come in here while yew compose ya self. I'll be back in a bit ta   
escort ya out."   
  
Meaghan pulled the woolen blanket over her shoulders, hugging it against   
herself.   
  
"I need to be seeing me brother before I go, I must see him," she stated   
in a flat, sure voice.   
  
"Yes, of course you do."   
  
"If you would excuse me, I will go see about arranging it," said Robert   
getting off the bed and leaving the room.   
  
Meaghan took off the blanket and looked down at the ripped remains   
of her blouse and dress...they were no more than tattered shreds. She   
had nothing else, nothing except a mended thin-layered cloak that Smith   
had ripped off her when she had first struggled to get away from him.   
She grabbed it off the floor and quickly wrapped it around her, pulling   
the hood over her tangled black hair. She then sat on the bed and   
waited. Her body ached from the abuse he had leveled upon her slight   
frame. She inspected her arm that had hit the wall first. It was scratched   
and bruised. She quickly gave up inventorying the pains and scratches   
that spread over her body... there was just too many to count.   
  
Twenty minutes later the room filled with four guards. Robert was   
noticeably absent among them. "Come on Missay," ordered one of   
the men, grabbing her up under her arms," Time ta be leavin'."   
  
Meaghan pulled against his hold.   
  
"No wait, me brother, I have to see me brother!!" she screamed,   
trying to break out of the room and past the guards. Four sets of hands   
grabbed onto her, pulling her back, holding her in place.   
  
"You are out of 'ere now," said the same guard.   
  
They made a wall around her and pushed her out of the room,   
down the long hallway, past a gated off adjacent hall that was the   
men's quarters. She pushed against the guards, but they were   
immovable. She screamed.   
  
"Gabe! Gabriel Kineally! GABRIEL KINEALLY!! GABRIELLLL!!!!"   
  
A hand clamped over her mouth as the small group continued down   
the hall and to the front of the building. From a distance she heard a   
voice call back.   
  
"Meaghan! Meaghan! Meg..." Then, abruptly it stopped. Meaghan   
sagged to the ground, her knees giving out on her. They began to drag   
her to the door, her knees scraping against the unleveled pavement.   
  
The doors opened to their approach. They lifted her up as they walked   
through, and with a heave, they threw her out of the building. She rolled   
over and over from the momentum of the toss. She got up, her cloak   
flying behind her as she ran back up to the door, and began pounding on   
it, all the while screaming. She could feel countless eyes watch her, but   
watch only, for they could do nothing to help her and as she turned her   
head franticly looking, hoping for help... she saw the greedy need in their   
eyes to take her place within the walls.   
  
"Gabriel! Gaaabrielllllll!!!! Gabrieeeeellllll!!! "   
  
She pounded on the door, her fist bruising against the wood, yet still   
she persisted.   
  
A small window opened in the door and out stood the muzzle of a rifle. A   
muffled voice could be heard behind it.   
  
"Step away from ta door. Step 'way Now!"   
  
Then the rifle gave off a shot. Meaghan jumped back...her shoulders   
shaking with sobs.   
  
"Back!"   
  
Another shot sounded off, this one close to Meaghan's feet. She fell   
back more. Screaming her anguish in the dead of the night, she turned   
away from the door and stumbled, going into the deep darkness, leaving   
the city behind her.   
  
  
  
**********************************************************************   
  
  
  
  
"Gabriel," she whispered, her heart leadened. She had no doubt that   
what Smith had threatened would be done, probably was already   
done. She shook herself.   
  
Meaghan turned from the mirror and picked up her clothes that lay   
draped over the back of the rocking chair.   
  
There was nothing that she could do. He was gone.   
  
She pulled on her underthings and then slide the burgundy dress over   
her head The material fell over her body. It was still slightly big, but   
Catherine had planned well. At the rate she was recovering, it would fit   
properly in no time.   
  
Live.   
  
What she had to do now was live, and live she would.   
  
*******************************************************************   
As the weeks passed, Meaghan continued to recover. She still marveled   
at the speed with which her body healed, as did Catherine... and she   
would be lying to herself if she didn't admit that she was thankful. So, she   
didn't question the recovery so much as she accepted it, wholeheartedly.   
Now, her body showed no signs of the hunger that had previously   
devastated it. Her stamina, well it had certainly increased way beyond   
the collapsing form from her first night at Byrony. She truly was the   
healthiest that she'd ever been.   
  
  
Meaghan was not the only one to recover, Byrony's landscape also   
healed. The winter storms that had ravaged the estate, gave way to   
a better clime. The harsh winter was now but a faded memory as   
warm springtime air suffused the grounds, turning them into a familiar   
emerald green. Meaghan spent most of her days outside of the house,   
wandering and exploring the lush, vast lands of the estate. She loved   
Byrony. It was a place she never dreamed could exist in the real   
world. Places such as Byrony were reserved for the grounds of Heaven,   
or so she used to believe.   
  
Catherine would, on occasion, join Meaghan on her walks. She always   
seemed to know when Meaghan needed solitude or when she needed   
company. Meaghan cherished her for that. One day, on one of their   
many shared walks, Meaghan remarked upon the impressive visage of   
Byrony. It had reminded Meaghan of an abbey that was near her village   
in Skibereen and so she said as much.   
  
"Oh, well, I am not surprised at that," informed Catherine as they   
strolled along the grounds, "this estate used to be an abbey. When the   
English came in, they confiscated the grounds and built additions onto   
it... that is what the wings are. Many of the Brothers lost their lands and   
their roles in Ireland's faith," Catherine said, anger lacing her words. She   
continued. "The gardens be virtually the same as when they lived here,   
or so I am told. They were tended meticulously by the monks, and I am   
glad that us O'Sheas have continued the tradition of preservin' them. These   
grounds were and are a holy, blessed place indeed - not even the English   
could spoil that.   
  
  
  
END OF APRIL 1847   
  
  
The lake, which bordered the back of the estate, became Meaghan's   
favorite spot. She loved standing upon the little footbridge that   
expanded across its flowing waters. The edge of the lake was   
surrounded by large oak trees on either side and the sun had   
a habit of pushing it's way through the newly sprouted oak   
leaves, dappling the water with light. Meaghan felt that   
she could stay there forever. She couldn't conceive of ever leaving this   
place, but there were many things she had never conceived of,   
things... things that happened anyway.   
  
It was a cool mid-afternoon day in April when Meaghan and Catherine   
came to the lake together. Usually Meaghan went to the lake   
alone - It was the one place that she liked to go to think, to not   
think... to just be, but she didn't mind the company, not today.   
  
Meaghan stood leaning over the railing of the footbridge, looking out   
upon the waters as Catherine stood beside her. "Tis really beautiful   
here," Meaghan claimed as she watched the lazy waves pass under   
the bridge. The constant flow of the waters always seemed to pacify   
Meaghan. She would get lost in the glimmering waves, the sunlight   
catching one, passing another, it entranced her. The clean brisk air   
blended with the scent of the surrounding wild flowers. She breathed   
it in, letting it caress her soul. She loved how the ivy twined its way   
around the wooden rails and beams of the bridge, covering it in a   
lush greenery. The lake definitely left her with a feeling of   
calm, particularly when she had trouble attaining it. Unfortunately,   
she found herself at the lake more often than not.   
  
Byrony... it was a shadow of a dream she used to have when   
she was little, a place her mother spoke of called TIR NA nóG. Her   
mother would tell her about adventures in a fairy place where no one   
ever grew old and where everyone there was safe, happy, and   
loved. Mary Kineally would always speak of the beauty that was   
found everywhere one went in TIR NA nóG. It was a story that all mothers   
told their children, but Meaghan had believed that her mother had actually   
been there. The way she described it to her had Meaghan and her siblings   
seeing it in their dreams. Meaghan knew that was why she loved Byrony so   
much... in so many ways, it was her dream land realized.   
  
Meaghan stood up straighter as a breeze touched her skin and pulled   
at her hair. She turned toward Catherine. "Doesn't it be the most beautiful,   
peaceful place in all of Ireland?" Meaghan questioned as she closed   
her eyes and breathed in the atmosphere, listening to the stirrings   
of awakened birds and tittering insects.   
  
"Yea, that, it be... God's beauty for sure." Catherine answered.   
  
Meaghan stiffened, she grabbed at her neck for the chained cross   
that was no longer there. She'd had that necklace all her life. Father   
Aidan told her that he'd found her with it and now it was lost. She knew   
that she had it in the Work House... she vividly remembered Smith pawing   
it, but that was all he had done. Almost everything between being   
forced to leave the work house and landing in the safety of Byrony was   
a void of memories she had no wish to unearth - but it didn't really matter   
to her anyway. She did not believe in what that cross represented, for she   
did not, she could not, believe in God - not anymore.   
  
"What is it Meaghan?" Catherine asked laying a hand on Meaghan's   
arm. She remained silent. "Yea can tell me yea know, what be the   
matter lass?"   
  
Meaghan finally looked at her. She opened her mouth but no words   
came out. How could she possibly tell this God-fearing woman about   
her lost faith. She did not want to hurt her friend, for well Meaghan knew   
that most of what Catherine had left was her faith.   
  
Through their many conversations, Meaghan knew that Catherine felt   
the loss of her husband severely. She could hear the loneliness in her words   
except when she spoke of her faith in God. Yes, she had her son and   
grandson, both she knew Catherine loved dearly. Yet, they were not the   
ones with Catherine when she knelt beside her bed at night, praying, her   
rosary clenched in her hands. Meaghan had seen her do that practice often   
enough, but she was never a part of it... could never be a part of it.   
  
"Tis nothing," Meaghan whispered patting Catherine's hand. She turned   
to pull away but Catherine held her still.   
  
"Don't be tellin' me tis nothin'," Catherine said, stepping closer to   
Meaghan. "Yea think I don't know, don't yea?"   
  
"Know, be knowing what?" Meaghan asked fear grabbing at her   
heart. What did she know? Did she know that Meaghan had been to   
Hell and back, no, how could she possibly? Catherine interrupted her   
thoughts.   
  
"Everytime, everytime I mention the Lord's name, yea freeze, or yea   
turn away, or yea shudder," Catherine said, looking up into Meaghan's   
trapped eyes. "Do yea think I don't see it. I may be old but I am   
not blind."   
  
Catherine gently directed Meaghan over to a bench.   
  
Meaghan watched as Catherine took a deep breath. She saw compassion   
fill her friend's wizened eyes as she spoke once more. "Yea have been   
here for almost two months. In that time, I feel as if I have gotten to know   
yea rather well. Yea've become special to me... more a daughter than   
me own daughter-in-law had ever been... but we won't be gettin' into that."   
  
Catherine gave Meaghan a wry smile, then continued. "In that time yea've   
healed, at least, on the outside. But I know in yea heart there are so many   
cracks that have not mended. I've seen the nightmares that play with yea   
mind as yea sleep. I have never asked yea what caused yea to be in those   
fields, alone, those many weeks ago. I have never asked yea, until now."   
  
Meaghan felt like she was suffocating. She hadn't expected, hadn't thought,   
she'd shown any feelings relating to the events before being brought to   
Byrony. She tried not to think or deal with the past, no matter how much   
the past seemed to want to deal with her.   
  
"Tell me lass," Catherine encouraged, squeezing Meaghan's fingers," Yea   
must talk about it. I can see it eating yea up inside. Yea can't be going   
through life like that, not anymore."   
  
Meaghan gasped out, staring at the cloth of her dress," I can't."   
  
Catherine answered her sharply. "Yea can, Meaghan Marie Kineally."   
  
Meaghan head shot up and she looked at Catherine, staring... she did   
not see her, not really. She saw another woman. She saw her mother.   
Her features seemed to mingle with that of Catherine's... smiling,   
beckoning - telling her that it was okay to say it, to release the anguish   
that she constantly wrestled to hold down, deep inside herself.   
  
Meaghan closed her eyes tightly, her heart burning in her chest, a lump   
rose in her throat. Finally, she cried. She let her shoulders sag and her   
head lean forward onto Catherine's chest. She didn't speak, not at first. It   
was like a storm ripped through her, escaping out of her eyes and dampening   
Catherine's dress. She felt Catherine's arms wrap around her, rubbing   
her back in soothing circles. She sat there with Catherine for a long time,   
just letting the tears break free. She heard Catherine softly singing. She   
couldn't make out the words but the rocking motion and the rhythm of her   
voice helped soothe Meaghan more than watching waves pass below a bridge   
or the mixing scent of wild flowers.   
  
Meaghan sat up, pulling out of Catherine's embrace. She rubbed a hand   
over the back of her neck. It ached some from the awkward position   
she had cried in, but she couldn't have moved if her life depended on it.   
  
"Tell me, unburden yea self," Catherine whispered, " Some times it be   
alright to have someone help shoulder the load." Meaghan saw tears   
glittering in the elder woman's eyes. She felt like Catherine wrapped her   
in a cocoon of warmth were nothing bad could touch her, not even the   
pain of her memories. Maybe Catherine was right. She sighed and   
then began her tale.   
  
She told her everything, everything she could remember and everything   
she didn't want to remember. She looked down at the hand that Catherine   
clasped. She felt that as long as she had Catherine there to anchor her, to   
hold her, then she could tell it and tell it she did. Catherine now knew of   
Meaghan's family, of the starvation that had hit Skibereen and its outskirts... hit it   
hard. She told her of the rumors she had heard, that Skibereen suffered the worse   
wrath of the famine and from what she saw and experienced... she believed   
that to be very true. Meaghan told Catherine of her mother, her brothers, the   
twins and of Gabriel. All of them dead now. All.   
  
She told Catherine how she had gotten word at the Work House that her   
village had been hit with a deadly bout of smallpox. It had taken everyone   
there. No one had survived it. It was a ghost town of huts and cottages. The   
smell of the deceased rivaled that of Skibereen or so said one of the new   
work laborers who had been admitted to the work house. The woman   
told of how she had to pass through the village on her way there.   
  
"It was a wonder that I had not been infected too," she would say as they   
worked in the fields, building a road that led to nowhere.   
  
They were all gone. She didn't tell Gabriel, she couldn't. She hadn't seen   
him in days. The men were building a second bridge over "Loch Sheldahl".   
Meaghan and the other women lifted bricks and placed them neatly on the   
ground, but at times the Work Officers would find flaw with their work   
when there was none to be found. Yet still, they would make the women   
re-lay sections. It was a way to extend the work when there was no work   
left to be done. They would not just give food to Meaghan and the rest of   
the people... the officers would make the "lazy" Irish *work* for it.   
  
It had been another order to re-lay yet another perfectly formed piece of   
road when Meaghan's temper took over.   
  
"There be nothing wrong with this here bit of road, " Meaghan   
yelled to the Work Officer who sat astride his gelding. The setting   
sun stretched the Englishman's shadow, making him look imposing and   
more evil to the wearied workers. "It be freezin' out here. Our hands are   
numbed. Jesus, are whole body be numbed... yea can't be expectin' us   
to go on here, not now.. not this late."   
  
"Are you speaking to me Irish" the Work Officer growled from his perch.   
  
One of the young women grabbed her, pulling her back and away from   
the officer. "Neigh, Work Officer Smith, she not be speaking to yea." the   
woman answered, turning Meaghan from the Officer and staring a warning   
into her eyes as she squeezed Meaghan's arm. Meaghan struggled to break   
the hold, but the woman's hand was like a band of steel clamped around   
her skin.   
  
"Stop it now," the woman savagely whispered. "Yea'll not be getting' us,   
or yea self, anything by arguing with them. It will come to naught but   
bad. Do yea hear me lass?"   
  
"I can't be takin' this no longer," Meaghan seethed under her breath to   
the woman.   
  
"Let her answer me, girl" the man yelled over to them. The woman   
stared fiercely into Meaghan's eyes.   
  
Meaghan finally broke free of the woman's grip. How she wanted to   
scream, kick, yell... demand but, she knew the woman was right. Speaking   
up guaranteed nothing but more severe actions.   
  
"T'was nothing, Sir." Meaghan answered, biting the inside of her cheek.   
She could taste her bitter blood in her mouth. She bent over and picked   
up a cold brick placing it aside as the rest of the silent, still woman reanimated   
themselves and began to help remove the finely laid bricks.   
  
"It was later that night that I was called out of the woman's quarters by   
another officer," Meaghan told Catherine, her voice hollow. "He lead me   
down a hallway and into a room. It had a bed, cabinet and small window,   
whereas we were lucky if there were enough beds, which there rarely was.   
The only time there seemed to be a spare was when someone died of   
starvation, disease or heartache. Then, and only then, seemed to be the   
only time a bed was free. The room I was lead into, despite the furnishin,   
was still as dirty as everywhere else. The major difference bein' that the   
smell of the dead did not seem to fill the air... as much, for there were   
mass graves dug within the work house. The officer left me there to   
wait, for what, I had not a clue."   
  
Meaghan grasped Catherine's hand tighter as she continued. " I didn't   
have to wait that long. Work Officer Smith, the man I had spoken out   
to, entered the room. I knew... I knew I would not be leavin' that room   
without a mark... and I was right."   
  
Meaghan went on to relate what had happened and how she had been   
thrown out of the work house. How she had lost more than her virtue, more   
than her soul - she had lost Gabriel, the only person she had left in the world.   
  
"I do not believe in God... not anymore. So when yea see me freeze, turn   
away or shudder - it be because that name reminds me of all that I have   
lost... all that was torn from me. If there be a God, how? How could he   
be so cruel?"   
  
Catherine pulled her into a tight, almost suffocating embrace. Meaghan felt   
her stroke her hair as she whispered into her ear." I had no idea what yea've   
been through. No idea... no idea..."   
  
Catherine repeated it over and over again as she stroked Meaghan. She   
felt Catherine's tears against her dry cheek. Meaghan had told the story   
without crying. She was all cried out, the tears were there but they were   
locked inside as she related what had happened to her. Catherine sat   
back and wiped at her face. She then reached out and rubbed   
Meaghan's cheek tenderly.   
  
"Yea have been through so much," Catherine began, placing her hand   
back in her lap. "When I saw yea that first night, me heart went out to   
yea. I honestly didn't know how yea could still be alive, lookin' as yea   
did. I remember sayin' to yea that yea were a survivor... How small that   
seems to me now. Yea are so much more than that word, so much more."   
  
Meaghan sat there looking at Catherine. She hadn't wanted to tell her,   
she really didn't. In telling it, Meaghan felt no different but she could see   
that Catherine did. She saw a shaken woman before her now and that   
was her fault. She watched as Catherine tried to digest all that Meaghan   
had told her.   
  
"I can't tell yea," Catherine began then paused. Meaghan watched as   
Catherine worked within herself for the answer, for the words that she   
wanted to convey. Suddenly Catherine seemed to grow before her   
eyes. Perhaps Meaghan had underestimated this woman after all. Perhaps   
she could only imagine how she would feel if it were her hearing the   
story... but that wasn't right either. "I can't be tellin' yea how to feel about   
livin', dyin', country or even God. I won't burden yea with over used sayings   
or little prayers of hope. I won't. I will be sayin' this though, yea are alive,   
yea are young and yea are still loved. I love yea Meaghan and whether yea   
believe it be God or just a man who brought yea here, away from a past   
full of so much pain... well that be yea choice. I chose to be believin'   
that God has brought yea to Byrony. Maybe 'tis hard for yea to believe   
that, but it isn't for me."   
  
"And I will tell yea somethin' I have never told anyone." Meaghan sat there,   
listening intently as Catherine spoke. " Ever since me Edward died, I have   
been alone. There is me son and grandson... but they have each other.   
They live with each other and depend on each other. I have been alone,   
so alone. Edward has been gone for over three years and I have felt his   
absence everyday. Then yea came and I had someone who needed me   
more than a ghost did. Yea was so vulnerable, so lost. I think I let Edward   
go one day and I didn't even realize it. It had just happened. I'd kept him   
with me, tight to my chest for so long but yea. Yea helped me in ways   
that yea could never know, and I don't know if I could actually describe   
in words all that yea presence and yea have meant to me."   
  
"Oh Catherine," whispered Meaghan. Her heart stretched toward the   
woman. " I have valued yea beyond words too. Yea made me move   
when I felt I couldn't possibly take another step. Yea pushed me further   
when I thought that there was no place further to go... like today. I told me   
self that tellin' yea what happened didn't change how I felt. But maybe it   
did, if only to feel freer than I have in a long time. The conversations we   
have had, the *time* we've shared, even my failed attempts at baking with   
yea, " Meaghan laughed. " ... they have all benefited me more than I had   
realized. Yea are me friend, but more than that, yea are me family and that   
is something I thought that I would never have again."   
  
Meaghan felt Catherine squeeze her hand and Meaghan squeezed back. Catherine   
stood up and turned to Meaghan. "I think we had better be headin' back to   
the house.. There is dinner to be made after all and maybe we can give it   
another go with this baking."   
  
Meaghan stood too. Together they walked through the back gardens   
as they made their way to the rear entrance of Byrony. Meaghan paused,   
letting Catherine walk ahead some. She looked at the beauty of the grounds   
around her.   
  
"Yes, this be the most beautiful place in all of Ireland." Meaghan said   
softly, then followed Catherine into the house. 


	3. MC 3

*************************   
PRESENT:   
CLONAKILTY   
CO. CORK, IRELAND   
MAY 1847,   
3 days after Catherine and Meghan's   
conversation   
*************************   
And now, after leaving this Meghan Marie Kineally to heal upon Byrony's   
holy ground - allowing her that time without the immediate onslaught of   
immortality and the bag of tricks it contained - he was back, again...   
  
Methos sighed heavily as he left the tree line road and galloped his way   
through Byrony's land, stopping in front of the house. It seemed that   
the fates had decided it was time to take on another student. He only   
hoped that this woman had the capacity for the life she was about   
to lead. He hated seeing his efforts go to waste.   
  
Methos dismounted from his horse, pulling the saddlebags off and flipping   
them over his shoulder. He grabbed a hold of the reins, directing the stallion   
toward the stables. The immortal paused, hearing the distinct sound of   
spraying gravel. Methos looked down the lane and caught sight of the   
youngest O'Shea running up the stony path.   
  
  
"Mr. Adams," the young boy called out, waving his hand frantically.   
Methos watched the "young man" come barreling toward him. The oldest   
immortal bit the inside of his lower lip with suppressed amusement,   
careful not to offend the child's sensibilities.   
  
"Hello Liam "Methos greeted. The freckled boy finally reached him,   
leaning over to catch his breath. Methos looked down at Liam's   
fiery cap of hair, waiting for him to speak.. His eyes narrowed suddenly   
as suspicion snaked across his thoughts and colored his words. "Is there   
some sort of problem?"   
  
Liam shook his head, rubbing his pudgy hands against his dirtied pants.   
"No Sir, I was just playin' down in the greens, bout a quarter a mile off   
when I saw yea ride by. Here, let me take care of Fury for yea."   
  
"There's no need to disrupt your games." Methos regarded the boy's   
grimy clothes, evidence to his hard at play activities. Methos also noted   
that, not only could part of the field be found upon the boy's clothing, but   
his face was also smudged with it's dirt.   
  
"Beggin' your pardon Sir, but 'tis me job." Liam interrupted. He was thirteen   
years old and very serious. Methos remembered the first day he had arrived   
at Byrony. He had seen Liam begging his father for some sort of responsibility   
with the "new owner". Methos recognized the boy's need to be useful and so   
walked over to the child, asking him to look after Fury whenever he was at the   
estate. Liam hadn't hesitated and grabbed the proffered reins.   
  
"Well, you had better take him then." Methos answered solemnly, handing   
the reins, once again, over to the boy. He watched the child walk the horse   
toward the stable with an air of grave concentration. A smile played about   
the immortal's lips. He thought it good to see the young man anxiously   
resume his new position at Byrony. Methos hitched up the bags that   
lay draped across his shoulder and felt one of them hit the reassuring   
weight of his Ivanhoe.   
  
  
He absently reached into his riding coat to touch the sword's handle.   
Then taking a deep breath, he looked up at Byrony's brick facade.   
Methos shook his head. He told himself that he'd put off entering   
the house long enough and with that mounted the front steps, crossing   
the door's threshold.   
  
************************~   
PRESENT:   
CLONAKILTY   
CO. CORK, IRELAND   
BYRONY ESTATE   
MAY 1847   
************************   
"Where is she? She's not here!?! You didn't *let* her leave?" Methos   
demanded to know as he thundered into the kitchen.   
  
Upon entering the house, Methos hadn't sensed Meaghan's presence. At first,   
he wasn't concerned but as he canvassed the interior of the building with no   
sign   
of her, the immortal became *agitated*, at least that is how Methos would   
describe it.   
  
He found Catherine in the kitchen. She stood at the center island, rolling dough   
  
upon the wood block counter. "Mr. Adams." Catherine answered, looking up at   
him and not giving a further response. They stared at one another. She still   
rolling, and he *anxiously* awaiting an answer. She treated the immortal with   
that familiar, patient manner he had come to associate with Catherine, but that   
was when she dealt with her often hyperactive grandson... waaaiiit a minute.   
  
Methos placed his hands on his hips and turned his stare to the floor. He took   
a deep breath, letting it slowly whistle through his teeth. Taking another, he   
met   
her gaze. This time he spoke in the calm voice that, he knew Catherine was   
waiting to hear.   
  
"Where is she?" he asked. He found himself ducking his head, mimicking an   
action that he'd seen Liam do with her. It was ridiculous, but true. Catherine   
seemed to have the ability to make him feel about as young as Liam when the   
boy was being loud and well, just loud. But Methos wasn't struggling between   
childhood and adulthood. He'd passed through his angry adolescence long ago,   
so long ago that he didn't - couldn't remember it.   
  
She'd reverted to calling him Mr. Adams. It was a mode of address that she'd   
used only during their initial acquaintance. He didn't like that.   
  
"She is outside," answered Catherine turning her attention fully back to her   
work, "probably be finding her by the lake." Methos laid his hand over her   
flour covered one. Catherine ceased her work, meeting his gaze.   
  
"I *am* sorry I yelled at you." he said. Amazing, it really was amazing, he   
half suspected that Catherine was a witch. He *never* found himself getting   
tangled in concern over mortals', well really anyone's feelings. The woman   
seemed to have the innate ability to make him do things he normally wouldn't   
do, such as apologize. But Gods if he didn't find himself wanting to stay within   
  
her favor.   
  
"Quite all right Mr. Evan," she answered smiling up at him.   
  
Methos returned the smile. It was good to hear Mr. Evan again. Someday   
he'd work on getting her to call him just "Evan". "Thank you Catherine."   
  
******************   
PRESENT:   
BYRONY ESTATE   
SAME DAY   
MID -AFTERNOON   
*******************   
  
  
  
  
  
Meaghan sat on the bridge railing, her russet dress billowed about her dangling   
legs. She tossed crumbs of stale bread to the group of ducks floating about   
the lake. The birds had decided to make their seasonal home there. She didn't   
wonder at their choice, particularly since she had begun to bring them food   
every morning.   
  
"Here yea 're, yea grubbers," Meaghan said, leaning over to toss   
more of the crust. She watched as the ducks hungrily devoured the   
proffered meal. Meaghan laughed at their antics as they fought amongst   
themselves for the bits of food.   
  
She raised her face to the warming sun, her laughter diminishing   
into small chuckles. Suddenly her laughter stopped completely as   
she grabbed at her neck, shaking her head to relieve the sensation.   
  
"Whoa whoa whoaaaaa," She cried out, slipping from the railing   
and falling into the water below. A scene of scattered feathers and   
rambunctious quaking accompanied her arrival into the lake's depths.   
  
She burst through the surface of the water, gasping for air, she could   
feel her dress tangling around her legs. "Help! Help me!" She cried   
out, flailing her arms and trying to remain above the surface.   
  
A loud splash broke over to her right and she twisted her head to   
see what it was. Suddenly strong hands gripped her around the waist   
and a head burst out of the water. She didn't recognize him and she   
didn't care. She was caught within a haze of fear.   
  
"Please, get me out of here! I cannae swim!" she pleaded, gripping   
the man's forearms to help hold herself above the water.   
  
The man spit some of the lake water out of his mouth, and shook   
his head, the excess water raining down into Meaghan's face. "Calm   
down," He said as he began to pull her towards the shore.   
  
Meaghan dug her nails into his arms, leeching herself to him. "Owww," he   
cried, trying to pull her claws out of him.   
  
"Stop. Stop it!" He yelled. They twisted around in the water,   
him trying to save his arms, and she trying not to drown, clinging   
to him with a death grip. Finally, he stopped moving.   
  
"Ah ha." He called out triumphantly, holding her wrists cuffed   
within his hands and away from his body. Both of them gasped   
for air as they took a moment's reprieve from their over - exerted   
struggles.   
  
He began to rise out of the water like a hovering spirit. Meaghan   
watched in stunned credulity. He was floating above her! He   
leaned down to her face, his mouth brushing against the damp   
hair that covered her ear.   
  
"You can stand here." he whispered to her. Meaghan kicked   
the cloying cloth of her dress away from her legs and stretched her   
feet toward the bottom. She didn't have to move them far, because   
she soon found herself... squatting in the lake. Her feet were now   
placed firmly within the mucky floor.   
  
Meaghan began to shoot herself up, out of the water just as the   
man pulled her by the wrists. She rocketed towards him, into   
him. Suddenly she felt her wrists being pulled... down as he fell back,   
her momentum pushing him... and his grip pulling her along with him. She   
landed on top of him, a big splash accompanying their fall.   
  
"Bloody Hell!" She heard him cry out as they hit the water again.   
Meaghan gave out a piercing scream to accompany their descent   
into the now muck stirred lake. Meaghan soon found herself twisted   
around, arms encircling her waist as both of them emerged from   
under the water, coughing out its gritty taste. She gasped, trying to   
suck in the air. Her hair fell into her face, gluing to her skin. She gave   
a toss to her head to get the black strands out of her eyes.   
  
"Watch it!" said the man who was trudging through the lake," You   
just slapped me with that hair of yours."   
  
"Sorry," she said, wiping the remaining hair out of her face. The water   
made sloshing sounds as he held her. His chest against her back, he   
walked them both to shore. They were three feet from the bank when   
Meaghan pulled out of his embrace. " Thank yea."   
  
"Thank yea!," She said over her shoulder as he still held her. She   
was angry, well really humiliated more than anything. "I can make   
it from here."   
  
"You think," he asked. She could hear the sarcasm dripping from   
his voice. But he let her go and she stumbled onto the bank, climbing   
up to the bushy grass. She then proceeded to kiss the ground, then   
tossed herself onto her back landing upon the green embankment.   
  
"Ahh land, it be the best thing on earth," she sighed. Meaghan began   
to cough as some of the remaining lake water demanded release   
from her lungs.   
  
She heard a thud beside her. He spoke, " An excellent idea."   
  
They both just lay there, soaking in the heat, feeling the sun   
beat down on them and begin to dry their soaked clothing.   
  
"Gods," He muttered," I hope this isn't trend setting."   
  
"What did yea be saying, " Meaghan asked turning her head towards   
him. She saw that they lay side by side with only a bit of grass separating   
them. She looked at his profile. It was striking. From what she could   
see, he had high chiseled cheek bones and a rather large nose that seemed   
to stab the sky. Well, it seemed that way from this angle. He lay there   
with his eyes closed.   
  
"Mmm." he moaned in answer, rubbing the back of his head against   
the warm fragrant grass.   
  
"Sorry for yea havin' to take a plunge. "Meaghan said, "Thank yea for   
savin' me."   
  
The man finally turned his head to face her, opening his eyes. She   
gasped, that face. She remembered him now. He hadn't looked much   
different from the first time that she'd seen him on that rain stormed day.   
The lake water still clung to his black hair, leaving drops of it to slid down   
his   
angled features. Meaghan saw that his nose really wasn't as big as it had   
appeared. It fit him.   
  
She looked at his eyes... they had a rim of green, graduating to a hazel   
sort of color in the centre*. They seemed to mirror the surrounding shades   
of the flora. Her eyes traveled down his body. She couldn't help noticing   
how his wet clothes ( from his black breeches to his white, now transparent   
shirt) molded to his strong physique. He was a gentleman to be sure, if   
clothes were anything to go by -- a very attractive gentleman. She looked   
back to his face and found him watching her. She blushed, turning her head   
away from his penetrating gaze.   
  
"You're Mr. Evan," Meaghan said, staring at the patch of ground   
between them.   
  
"Actually ,yes. I am Evan Adams," he answered, grabbing her chin   
between his thumb and forefinger. Meaghan shuddered, remembering   
the first time he had done that. It was a totally different experience   
then... too different. Her stomach felt funny and she didn't like that.   
"You have healed. I wouldn't believe you were the same person if I   
didn't know otherwise. And… you may call me Evan."   
  
Meaghan hastily pulled out of his callused fingers. His hands certainly   
didn't feel like the soft "gentlemanly" pads she'd expected them to be. She   
scrambled to her feet, walking under the shade of an oak. She saw Evan   
watch her from the edge of the river. He confused her. It seems, again, he   
had saved her life. Would she ever stop owing him. She walked the distance   
back to him. At her second step, she felt her head explode with sensation.   
She fell to the ground, onto her knees.   
  
"Ah," Meaghan gasped, holding her head. She heard a rustle of the grass   
and then saw one of Evan's booted legs block her perusal of the ground. His   
shadow fell over her. Suddenly she felt very afraid, inexplicably so. She pushed   
  
herself backward, away from him.   
  
"What is this?" Meaghan asked, fear coloring her words. "Who are yea   
and what are yea doing to me?"   
  
"I am not doing it to you." Evan answered. "Don't be afraid... of me   
anyway."   
  
  
******************   
PRESENT:   
MAY 1847   
BYRONY ESTATE   
LATER THAT DAY,   
JUST AFTER DUSK...   
*******************   
Meaghan sat in the library stunned. What could she say? How? But he   
said how didn't he, "No one knows."   
  
She closed her eyes, and let her face fall to her knees. Meaghan began to   
rock, trying to block out what he said. She wouldn't, couldn't believe him.   
  
"No."   
  
"Excuse me? What was that?" Evan asked. She looked up and watched   
him turn from the window, leaving the newly darkened sky behind him.   
  
"No. Yea must be wrong. Immortality... we are not angels." Meaghan said, her   
voice taking on strength, then deflating. "We are not angels," she finished   
in a whisper. They couldn't be. How cruel could God be to her? Take away   
everything she ever loved, put her through such… such... only to have her work   
for..."   
  
"No we're not angels, but that doesn't make us any less than what we are,"   
Evan said, interrupting her thoughts. He took a seat beside her. "Tell me, how   
do you explain away your sensing me, your speedy recovery... no "mortal" could   
heal as fast as you, none. Don't tell me you haven't thought it strange."   
  
Meaghan's head shot up," I... I don't know....yea 're tellin' me I died. If I   
did,   
why wasna I aware of it? Tell me *that*."   
  
"I can't say for certain, but you must have received some type of injury, add  
that with the starvation and. . ." Evan sighed, she could hear his irritation.   
  
"I'm sorry, do I upset yea? I wouldna want to intrude anymore on yea time. I'll   
just   
be leavin'." Meaghan flared and got up, walking towards the door. She finished   
in a   
whisper, "Yea crazy anyway."   
  
Evan followed, gripping her arm and swinging her back. She crashed into his   
chest   
His tone was hard as steel. " Listen to me and listen to me good. If you leave   
here   
now, you will die. Yes! And I don't mean of old age or sickness... someone will   
come   
along and cut your pretty head from your shoulders. Yes! You... will ... die,   
Yes! Just as   
surely as I stand before you now and just as surely as I have described."   
  
Meaghan struggled in his hold. She twisted her head back and forth, denying his   
words. " I don't believe yea, I don't believe yea!!!"   
  
Evan's hand brushed between their bodies as he reached down. He stared   
at her, his eyes turning a darker shade of green with his intent. His eyes   
seemed   
to bore into her own. Meaghan froze, fear coming into her heart. He wouldn't...   
No,   
not him too, not him...   
  
***********************************************************   
FLASHBACK:   
JANUARY 1847   
WORK HOUSE   
  
"Ya, you feel this ," asked the Work officer, pressing himself against her," I   
tell   
ya what, it's your choice. What would ya prefer?"   
************************************************************   
  
Evan continued to reach down, his hand brushing the side of her body. She   
watched   
his eyes, trapped within the hazel maze of fluctuating colors. Her body shook,   
she waited for him to touch her... seconds crept by, the mantel clock sounded   
with slow, heavy ticks.   
  
He rose a booted leg. It slid up the length of her thigh. She shook her head.   
She'd trusted him, or at least had begun to... She couldn't take it anymore. She   
  
was all fearful confusion. He slowly lowered his leg, never breaking eye contact   
  
with Meaghan. Evan raised his hand, holding it up to show her it. His palm was   
not empty.   
  
She began to struggle in earnest. She now saw, gripped within his palm,   
a dagger. He must have pulled it from the inside of his riding boot.   
She couldn't break free. His hand banded her to him.   
  
"Shhh, don't be afraid," He told her. She watched him bring the dagger up...   
higher and higher... raising it between them... and then he plunged it into his   
heart.   
  
"AHHHHHHHHHHH," Meaghan screamed as he feel back, finally releasing   
her. She watched him fall against a chair. It skidded across the carpet and his   
body fell to the floor.   
  
"What have yea done!?! What have yea done!?!" Meaghan cried, falling   
to her knees. She pulled the dagger out of his chest, and the blood began to   
flow faster.   
  
"I, ah ,I ah," she muttered to herself looking around the room , looking for   
something to stop the bleeding. She looked down at the hem of her dress.   
She bunched it up, straddling his body, she pressed as much of the material   
as she could against the wound.   
  
Meaghan was crying, senseless, afraid. "Oh God no, Oh God NOoooo." He   
was dead, she knew it. She couldn't feel him, the sensation had slipped away   
to nothing. Regardless, she couldn't stop pressing against the wound, tears   
blinding her. She had to stop the bleeding... had to stop it. She saw blood   
all around her.   
  
"No, don't be dead, don't be dead, "She chanted.   
  
Meaghan was suddenly bucked by the body beneath her, her head burst with a   
sizzling hum, it overpowered her, disorienting at first. She screamed again,   
sliding off of him and crab walking backward until she hit the far wall. A book   
fell from the shelf, landing a few feet beside her. She yelped, then heard him   
moan. Meaghan watched him turn to his side and curl up his body.   
  
"Ugh," Evan groaned again. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. He was   
living and breathing... again. It wasn't possible.. it wasn't!   
  
Suddenly she got angry and crawled back over to him as he sat up. She   
saw him look at her as she approached him. When she reached Evan,   
she raised her palm and slapped his face. She made to slap him again,   
but stilled her hand when she saw the kindling of anger within his eyes.   
  
"Oh no, you won't get a second chance to do that again." He said gasping   
as he continued to recover. She could see the red welt of her fingers on his   
face and just as fast as she saw them faded away.   
  
"How could this be? How could this be!?!" Meaghan cried dropping her head   
against his shoulder. She felt him reach his arms around her, crushing her to   
him.   
She desperately needed his warmth, his reassurance. She paid no heed to the   
bloodied mess around her. She was feeling cold as shock tried to intrude   
upon her. Meaghan could feel the steady thud of his heart against   
her own chest, a heart that should not have been beating.   
  
Could what he said be true? How could she deny it? Meaghan's skin   
tingled as if pin pricks rolled across her skin. Shock and the unreality   
of it all had settled around her, but accompanying those two feelings   
was acceptance. She accepted what Evan said as truth, a completely   
disarming truth. She wept.   
  
"Shh, " He said as he stroked her hair.   
  
"Ouch," Meaghan cried. She tried to pull back from him. "Ouch!... "Don't be   
movin... wait," she ordered, grabbing his shoulder. She then gripped his hand   
and slowly began to extricate it from her tangled strands.   
  
"Mphffff, hehehee," She heard him start to laugh.   
  
"Wait, stop, it's caught around yea rin..hin..ggg hehe, yea ring," She   
ended in giggles herself. "Ah, there," She declared with triumph, as tears   
of despair slipped into a release of hysteric laughter. It took her a   
moment to get herself under control and the warm chuckles of Evan   
didn't help her attain it.   
  
"You can let go my hand now." Evan reminded her. Meaghan blushed,   
relinquishing his palm. She finally sobered, staring at him.   
  
"So, it's true then, everything yea've said... holy ground, sword   
fighting, ...." Meaghan pleaded one last time for him to   
negate what he told her, "There can be only one?"   
  
Evan shook his head and simply answered her. "Yes."   
  
Meaghan took in a deep breath. It was too much. It was always too   
much. She looked at him, cocking her head as a question clamored   
within her, demanding to be asked. "How long have *you* been   
alive?"   
  
She saw him freeze, almost imperceptibly... then he answered   
her. "Longer than a mortal life."   
  
"What does that mean? How long have you kept your...   
your head?" Meaghan let go of his arm, pulling back to look   
fully upon him. "Immortality, it be forever. ...How long has forever   
been for you? ...A hundred years? ... A thousand?"   
  
She watched Evan's eyes hardened, but he answered   
her." Longer than most."   
  
Meaghan recoiled. She drug herself off the floor and walked over   
to the room's fireplace. The cackle of burning wood drew   
her gaze to the jumping flames. She was emotionally drained and   
Evan's short, cryptic answers had stung her. 'Let him keep his   
secret.' she thought. She was suppose to trust *him*?... with her life?   
...and yet he was showing that he did not trust *her*? 'Well, so   
be it.'   
  
Silence lay across the room, stretching into minutes as   
neither Meaghan nor Evan moved. Finally she turned from the   
fire and walked back. She knelt before him. He watched her.   
She had felt his persisting look even before she'd turned from   
the flames, but she would face him when she was ready and   
so... now she was.   
  
She squared her shoulders as she pushed some more offending   
hair out of her eyes. She returned his gaze. "Well, I suppose since   
yea be choosin' to teach me rather than kill me, we should be   
startin' the trainin'."   
  
Evan stood up. Only the tell - tale sign of blood left   
witness of his recent death. He moved without a hint of pain, and   
she was sure that there was none. Evan held his hand out   
to her and Meaghan clasped it. He spoke with edged steel. "If I had   
chosen to kill you, you never would have lived beyond that wretched   
storm." Evan's voice softened, " There are things that... I... It   
isn't that I don't trust you... I know you think that. It isn't   
you... I do not trust anyone, experience has taught me that   
lesson."   
  
Meaghan looked up at him, squeezing his hand... gone was the anger   
and in its place, a sense of understanding. "That be very sad indeed. I   
have had things happen to me within one year that could equal a lifetime   
of heartaches, of mistrust... at least, a mortal lifetime... and yet, I am still   
  
willing to trust... To trust *yea*. Perhaps one day experience will teach yea   
a new lesson."   
  
"Perhaps," was Evan's response as he pulled her to her feet. She   
was beginning to think he would be always doing that. And damned   
if that thought didn't come true. 


	4. MC 4

**********************   
PRESENT:   
SIX MONTHS LATER   
CLONAKILTY   
CO. CORK, IRELAND   
BYRONY ESTATE   
At Hidden Glen   
OCTOBER 1847   
**********************   
  
"Again Meaghan, again!" Evan ordered, pulling her off of the pine-needled   
ground.   
They stood facing each other, both of them gasping for breath. They had been   
sparring for over two hours now, and she was tired for mercy's sake.   
  
Meaghan grumbled to herself as she watched Evan walk back to the   
sun - washed glade. She licked her lips, tasting the salty, sweat coating that   
their training had caused. Her whole body was slicked with moisture. Her   
blouse and breeches seemed a clinging second skin. She pulled at the material,   
trying to allow some air in between it and her body. And that was another   
thing, her muscles were aching nearly beyond endurance from this continued   
exertion. Evan wasn't giving her time to recuperate. She'd complained about   
that but he said that in a true challenge, her opponent would not wait for   
her to get *rested*. Well, she wasn't in a real challenge!   
  
She was finding Evan to be unmerciful, at least her tired body told her so. He   
was utilizing the uneven terrain and surrounding greenery of their sparring area   
  
with great *ability*. Of course, any *ability* would seem great compared to   
her efforts. He manipulated her around the area like a cat batting at a toy.   
  
He'd forced her out of the glen and back into the woods with that last round   
of attack. She remembered hearing the underbrush crunching beneath their   
boots as he forced her back. The retreat abruptly halted when her calves had   
suddenly hit against a fallen tree trunk, propelling her backwards. Meaghan   
didn't know how, but as she descended to meet the ground -rear end first- Evan   
had disarmed her - again - and with such a quick motion that it was all a blur   
to her wearied eyes. She was beginning to think that she would never be able   
to survive, that she didn't have the continued energy, that she would *never*   
have enough energy for a real challenge. It had been six months since he'd first   
  
started her training and she felt no better than the first day of practice.   
Well, maybe   
that was an overstatement   
  
Meaghan looked around her. They'd originally come by this training ground   
following a hidden trail which stemmed from the farthest bank of the lake.  
Eventually the trail widened into a rather large glen. Meaghan had found it   
on one of her many days spent at the calm waters. When Evan mentioned   
needing a private training area for outdoor training, Meaghan informed   
him about the hidden spot. He explained the need for the privacy   
by saying that in no way could the O'Sheas be a witness to his   
torture...er, training. He also added, smirking, that it was a good   
way to get used to not fighting in front of mortals. Ahh, another   
one of those *rules*.   
  
  
**********************   
FLASHBACK:   
FOUR MONTHS PREVIOUSLY   
BYRONY GARDEN   
JUNE 1847   
**********************   
Liam had asked her once why Evan was teaching her sword work. It had been   
after Evan had caught the thirteen year old spying on them. Evan left the boy   
with no doubt that he was not to find himself among the two adults while   
they sparred- not ever again. At least, that is what Evan had told her after   
marching the young man back to the house.   
  
"Why do yea be sword fightin'?" Liam asked, holding a weed bucket beside   
Meaghan.   
  
"For me protection, lad." Meaghan answered as Liam and she worked in   
the cultivated gardens.   
  
"But nobody uses swords anymore," Liam tried to explain to her. "There be   
guns nowadays."   
  
"Ahh, but there do be people who use swords," Meaghan explained as she tried to   
snip a stubborn bush. She paused, staring at the tiny tree as she finished   
answering   
him in a soft voice. "People who be prefferin' them over guns."   
  
They continued on working, Liam had let the subject drop, she didn't   
know why. It wasn't like him to do so, but he had.   
  
***************   
PRESENT:   
OCTOBER 1847   
***************   
"Meaghan!" Evan growled, waiting for her to re-enter the glen.   
  
"Okay! " She groused, dusting the dead pine needles off of her breeches with   
her free hand. At first she felt awkward wearing the pants, exposed. But Evan   
had been adamant about her wearing them. He told her that it was the best   
clothing to wear when learning the sword. He also had her wear her dresses,   
telling her that she had to be prepared to fight a challenge in all types of   
possible attire.   
  
Meaghan didn't feel awkward wearing the pants anymore. She was gladder for   
the use of them. Her clothes were getting constantly slashed, and bloodied. The   
outfit she had on now was littered with stitches she'd sewed in after previous   
training sessions. As the months progressed, she derived a bit of satisfaction   
to   
see that she was not the only one wearing mended clothing, but her brain wasn't   
focused on that. She was starting to imagine just how soft her bed pillows   
were... how she could just sink into their billowy surface. She shook herself,   
breaking free of the inviting image.   
  
Meaghan looked down at the sword in her hand, her sword. She ran her fingers   
across the silver blade. The weapon was half the size of her entire body. She   
cried out as the sharp edge sliced into her fingers. It bleed heavily, only to   
taper   
off as she, involuntarily, brought the wounded appendage to her mouth. She   
watched as the flickering light of quickening sealed the wound, leaving no   
evidence   
of it ever occurring. It was times like these that the dream-like bubble lifted   
and   
the reality of immortality wrapped itself around her. Evan's voice yanked her   
out   
of her thoughts.   
  
  
"Are you coming before it gets dark?" Evan asked, as he studied   
his blade edge. Meaghan glared at him.   
  
"All right, I'm comin'." She yelled as she stopped dawdling and entered the   
glade.   
She wasn't looking forward to falling or losing her sword... yet again.   
  
"You know, you will get better," Evan said as he pulled his stare from his   
blade and looked at her approaching figure. " It just takes time and effort."   
  
"I am trying!" Meaghan said, yawning into her hand.   
  
"Try Bloody Well harder!" Evan demanded. He changed   
right before her eyes, the hidden predator exposed. He did it   
every time he went on the attack, disguising that side of him  
again with the end of each bout. She would never want to   
face him in earnest should she survive his training.   
  
  
His eyes were hard, his face unreadable as he stalked her  
down. Meaghan flinched, but then let her anger take   
over for her. She was exhausted and stupidly did not  
tread cautiously with her tongue as she spoke.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Try harder? Evan. I hate... I absolutely hate, when yea say   
that!" Meaghan growled, thrusting her sword at him as she   
met his attack. He sidestepped her second swipe and within two   
more parries, her sword was flung from her hand. It flew   
up into the air, spinning head over tail. Evan reached up as it   
descended, catching it at the hilt.   
  
"That be only impressive the first five times yea did it!" Meaghan said,   
crossing her arms across her chest.   
  
Evan stepped up to her and made to hand the blade back. As she reached for it,   
he struck a leg out and kicked her feet out from under her. She dropped to the   
ground, tumbling into a back flip to swing her leg around to catch his. He   
jumped   
up and brought both blades down to her neck, crisscrossing them against the   
sensitive area as she froze, kneeling on the glen's grassy surface.   
  
"Uncontrollable anger will not help you, " He seethed. Meaghan was out of   
breath, gasping. He did not even break a sweat. Evan pushed in   
further, the blade breaking through her skin. She was afraid. Fear tumbled   
in her belly but she thankfully saw that she could read his face - the anger   
that   
was there. Anger was good, anything was better than that masked countenance.   
  
Evan was unrelenting and demanding yet at the same time fair. Though she was   
so very tired and angry *and* scared, she had to admit that Evan would praise   
her as well as hold no words back should she do something careless. She   
suspected-   
no - she knew this was one of her careless times. She felt the blood trickle   
down the   
side of her throat. "Anger is your major problem Meaghan. I know you're tired. I   
know   
that, but your stamina will build - it has so much already. Your anger - you   
must learn   
to control it or you will find yourself dead."   
  
His own eyes blazed with tempered heat; she could see it, thank God she could!   
And she could also see the difference between them. Whereas her anger made her   
wild and rash, his was controlled, always controlled. "I'd hate to be wasting my   
  
time." He finished.   
  
"You aren't," Meaghan replied, standing up. He raised the blades with her. Evan   
looked at her hard, cocking his head to the side... seeming to look for   
something. She wondered if he found it as he pulled the blades away from her   
throat and handed back her sword.   
  
"I think we're done for today."   
  
********************************   
LATER THAT EVENING   
METHOS' BED CHAMBER   
********************************   
Methos knew he'd been rough on her. He could see how tired   
she was, and yet despite that, she didn't give up. This woman had   
a fighting chance - that is, if she could get in control of her anger.   
Today had not been the only day she'd let her frustration get to her   
but despite that, Meaghan's progress was really remarkable. Her   
strength, in the beginning, was nothing compared to the level   
it was now. When they'd started she couldn't even lift the sword he'd   
given her. Now, not only could she lift it but he found himself falling   
back, at times from the force of her blows.   
  
Meaghan Marie Kineally was a good student, a passionate student,   
possibly one of the best he'd ever had. When he'd found her those   
many months ago, he nearly left her in that storm. It would have been   
so easy, but he couldn't. He'd experienced a pang of guilt over the thought,   
and he did not feel guilt - not since the eleventh century, or so he liked to   
claim. He wasn't heartless, well, not anymore. So, he brought her to Byrony   
and left her there to recover, free of his presence.   
  
She didn't need to be constantly assaulted with his quickening. He knew   
how disorienting it could be to a new immortal. She would not be able to   
process everything that was happening to her in the state that she was in.   
It was better that he had left her with Catherine. He trusted the elder woman.   
Methos had found that Catherine was even better in person than the letters   
she'd written. He had felt confident in leaving Meaghan with her. Meaghan   
needed the time to recuperate before she began living. Living, for perhaps the   
first time in her young life.   
  
When Methos thought on Meaghan, he was sometimes struck with   
amazement and that was something that just didn't often happen. It   
wasn't enough that she'd died. Meaghan had suffered a journey through   
Hell and back, a journey that could have crushed her, but didn't. It was   
admirable.   
  
Catherine had hinted to him about Meaghan's previous circumstances   
and Meaghan, herself, would make mention of her time at the Work   
Houses, but only in passing. He knew she had lost a brother there and   
that her family had died of infection, but that was just a list of   
information. Meaghan never spoke of how it made her feel, at least not   
to him. He suspected Catherine was there for Meaghan not only for   
her physical recovery, but her emotional healing as well. Catherine had a   
power that mystified, even him.   
***************************************   
  
Methos walked into his bedroom. As he walked further into the room,   
he pulled his shirt out of his breeches, unbuttoning it as the same time.   
He stripped the cloth off his shoulders and held it up for   
examination as he walked over to his armoire.   
  
  
"Another hole to mend," He commented as he poked his finger through   
the torn material. He opened a door to his clothes closet and pulled out an old   
sewing kit that had seen more use in the past six months than it had seen   
in the past 60 years. Methos walked over to his bed. He fell upon it,   
draping his body across its length..   
  
Methos sighed as he settled himself, his ripped shirt and   
sewing kit in hand. He leaned forward to arrange himself against   
the pile of pillows.   
  
'At least if I have to re-enter the game, it isn't through battle, well   
not true battle,' the immortal thought to himself as he pulled the thread   
through   
the damaged apparel. One small favor in that.   
  
"A favor that almost didn't happen," Methos said to the empty room.  
His eyes narrowed as his thoughts turned on to his current problem.  
  
He was being stalked, played with in shadows.  
  
He really didn't understand what this immortal was getting at. Was   
it suppose to be a scare tactic? Was it a game? It was annoying, at best.   
Avoiding confrontation was second nature, and he gave little   
thought to his practice of it. But now... now he had a student and   
the idea that this immortal should find him and Meaghan at   
Byrony played at his thoughts. If someone should come looking   
for him, at least Meaghan would be safe here.   
  
  
Acquiring Byrony was one of the best things he could have done. Though   
he was sure if he asked Byron, the poet would disagree. It's holy ground was   
something that Byron... Gods, only Byron would be so bold as to rename   
an estate after himself... Well, the holy ground was something Byron had   
wanted. It was a chance to get away from the game, but get away from it   
in luxury and not in some stuffy, damp church. Methos remembered his   
friend's enthusiasm while telling his "Doc" about the holy estate. It was a   
shame, for Byron, that he didn't own it anymore.   
  
***************   
VILLA DIADOTI   
on the shores of:   
LAKE GENEVA,   
SWITZERLAND   
June 22, 1816   
***************   
"Byron?"   
  
"ByrON!?!" Methos called out yet again, trying to get the   
wayward attention of his friend," If you're not too busy."   
  
A sardonic smile slipped over Methos' face as he watched Byron   
reluctantly extract himself from the "Lady" who lay draped   
across his lap.   
  
"Ah...My turn already, Doc?" Byron asked as his mouth roamed over   
the buxom beauty.   
  
"Yes," Methos answered. He glanced toward Percy Shelly who lay   
on the floor sprawled out upon a pile of pillows. "I believe   
Shelly's folded," Methos continued, smirking.   
  
"Did he?" asked Byron, looking over the beauty's shoulder to   
Shelly's passed out form, "Drunk on the ol' nectar of life I'd   
wager."   
  
"Speaking of wager," said Methos, staring pointedly at   
Byron," I do believe it is yours to make."   
  
  
Methos watched Byron taste the pouting lips of his young  
"Lady". "My sweet delicious Jodi, how I do want to go exploring   
passion's fields with you," Byron growled lustily, regret   
tempering his next words, "but, you must excuse me for   
the moment."   
  
"Hmm...all right but *only* for a moment," allowed, albeit   
grudgingly, the coquette named Jodi. She pressed her body   
even closer against Byron's, her hand roaming over the   
poet, playing with the chest hair that lay exposed atop his   
disheveled shirt.   
  
  
Methos watched them, relishing the sensuality of their display.   
He grabbed up a bottle of red wine that sat upon the table,   
throwing his head back. The scarlet liquid slide out of   
the bottle and into his awaiting mouth. The juice splashed   
across his tongue, exciting his taste buds. He slammed the   
bottle back down on the table, the remaining wine sloshing   
within the glass walls. Running an arm over his mouth, he wiped   
away some spilt drops that had escaped down his chin.   
  
Suddenly Methos froze. He could feel his heart start to pound   
against his rib cage. He gripped the edge of the table. Methos   
felt his control slipping. He broke out in a sweat; the back of   
his collar soaking. He desperately needed Byron's display to   
stop for he had the uncontrollable desire to grip Jodi to his own   
body, He wanted his turn. He realized as he sat across from the   
poet, that it would be so easy to replace Byron's face with that   
of Kronos' war painted visage.   
  
"Come Brother, she hungers for you," Kronos' voice   
whispered from his cavernous memories.   
  
It was with Kronos that he shared, took and caressed a woman   
with abandon. If those memories could be awakened so easily,   
perhaps others of the not so sensual nature could as well. He   
would not let that happen.   
  
He could not.   
  
"Byron!" Methos cried, calling out rather harshly as he tried to   
get himself back to his cool, controlled self. He hated weakness   
and most of all, he couldn't abide weakness of will, especially   
within himself.   
  
"Whaa, what, darling where are you," Shelly muttered from the   
floor, then was silent again.   
  
Byron gave Jodi one last sound kiss before she slipped off his   
lap. She sauntered over to a sofa, her eyes never leaving   
Byron's figure. Byron reluctantly returned his attention back   
to the game of cards.   
  
"Hmm... Now?"   
  
"Now. It is your bet," answered Methos as he closed his fanned   
cards, placing his dealt hand upon the table. He grimaced,   
shaking his head as the last vestiges of temptation abandon   
him.   
  
Methos saw Byron try to read him. He watched as the poet searched   
for any clues as to what would be his best route. Methos didn't   
survive for 4800 years by being 'read'. Yet he saw Byron's eyes   
narrow then widened as a smile crept over the Englishman's face.   
  
"You have nothing,' Byron conjectured, leaning over the table   
towards Methos. "In fact, I am so sure you have nothing that I   
am ready to really raise the stakes."   
  
Methos held Byron's gaze bowing his head to him, signaling for   
him to explain the terms as he said, "And what exactly is your   
wager?"   
  
"I will bet Byrony Estate against your hand."   
  
"Byrony? But you just acquired it. I thought you wanted it as   
your "get away" from the plaguing masses, mortals and immortals alike?"   
  
"And so it shall be," answered Byron, self assured, grabbing up   
the bottle of red wine from Methos' fingers.   
  
"But tell me, what is it you could possibly want from me that would   
match that?" asked Methos.   
  
Byron leaned further across the mahogany table. He spoke low,   
for only Methos' hearing.   
  
"I want you to break the 'bounds of decency' ," revealed Byron,   
glancing towards the ceiling, "Mary still lay sleeping,   
hungering."   
  
((("Hungering brother," whispered Kronos' words again.)))   
  
"Break the bounds of passion," Methos' growled, mimicking   
Byron's words of earlier that night.   
  
EARLIER THAT NIGHT.   
  
  
  
  
"Lets break the bounds of passion,' suggested Byron as  
his hand roamed over the sleeping body of Mary  
Shelly.  
  
  
"More like breaking the bounds of decency." was  
Methos' reply.  
  
Byron reached across Mary's nightmare - filled slumber.   
He cupped Methos' face, holding him there.  
  
  
"Feel her hunger," enticed Byron as he released Methos' cheek   
and grabbed his hand, placing his palm flat against Mary's chest.   
Methos' body spiked with desire, his eyes dilated. He   
watched the trail his hand made upon Mary's heaving chest. He   
looked back to Byron. The poet's face was mere inches from his   
own. Methos could see his desire mirrored in Byron's own eyes,   
the possibilities of pleasure crowding his mind. He wrenched his   
gaze away from Byron's, pulling away from the bed as if scalded.   
  
"No," he firmly stated, paling as he heard pounding hooves   
thundering from his memory and the cackle of a brother he didn't   
want to remember. He shook his head again, backing further away.   
  
*********   
Methos let the events of earlier that night recede into the   
background of his thoughts, his control still firmly restored.   
  
"I don't think so," Methos answered coolly to Byron's challenge.   
  
"What's a matter, afraid your hand isn't good enough?" Byron   
asked, trying to push Methos. "Now Doc, I hope your not going   
to let me down."   
  
"Fine," Methos answered with a mock sorrow - filled sigh, his gaze   
never straying from Byron's," I accept."   
  
"This is an interesting bit of entertainment, I'd wager."   
  
Methos stared at Byron intently, shaking his head ruefully as   
a grin broke out across his face.   
  
"Too bad you've lost," said Methos as he flipped his cards over,   
one by one," I'll take the deed now, if you don't mind."   
  
****************************************************   
  
Kronos, he'd have to remind himself not to remember him, as if that   
were possible. His *brother* still slipped into his thoughts, even   
after so much time had passed. How could he not? Methos  
was used to it, but he didn't like it. He didn't want to be reminded   
of his past, but it didn't matter, it was with him all the time.   
  
Thoughts of Byron and Kronos did not a good combination make. He   
decided not to think about them at all.   
  
Methos tied off his sewing string and tossed the shirt and sewing kit to the   
side   
as he slid down and closed his eyes.   
  
*******************   
  
Sleep, that was what he would think about. But when he closed his eyes   
it wasn't visions of sheep prancing around in his mind's eye. It was the   
vision of long black hair that caressed ivory cheeks and gray eyes that   
near devoured him, drawling him closer to her beauty. It was here,   
in the realm of dreams and released desires that he let burgeoning   
thoughts of Meaghan and himself twine together. It was only here that   
the student became his lover.   
  
She stood at the foot of his bed. He slid off it, walking to her. She wore   
nothing but a flimsy chemise that did little to hide the sheer picture of   
woman's beauty beneath.   
  
He reached up to cup her face, her skin was so soft against his hand. She   
turned her cheek into the embrace. Then Methos leaned forward, reaching for   
her lips. "Meaghan," He whispered against them.   
  
She turned her head to meet his mouth and reached her arms around him, pulling   
his body against hers. Methos could feel the weight of her breasts against his   
own   
skin. She was beautiful. He tasted her mouth, the flavor of strawberries. Her   
lips pillowed against his own. Methos reached down to cup a breast in   
his palm. He was aching to feel her in his hands.   
  
"Ughh... Gods!?!" Methos choked suddenly. He pulled back, looking down at   
his chest. A dagger was rammed into his heart. He fell back more but Meaghan   
grabbed the nape of his neck, pulling him to her. Her mouth clamped against his   
own gaping one. She kissed him rough and ruthlessly, then pulled away from him.   
  
"Meaghan?" He gasped, blood rising in his throat as he began to crumble,   
retreating. The back of his knees hit the bed. She leaned into his face, her   
height almost as tall as his.   
  
"Hello Brother." She answered, only it was not her voice. It was Kronos'. The   
room shattered away like it was glass. He found himself once again within the   
Horsemen camp. The foul scent of manure wafted through his nose. He could feel   
the sand- whipped wind in his hair as his long strands wrapped about his neck.   
He   
saw Meaghan's image shimmer, then reform into Kronos'.   
  
  
  
"What's the matter Brother? Have you grown soft?"  
  
  
Methos fell to his knees. He slowly reached a bloodied hand to his face and   
rubbed it. Pulling his palm away he saw the war paint blue upon his fingers. He   
looked up and saw Kronos laughing...   
  
  
  
  
  
...then Methos fell back, his head hitting the sandy floor. All went black.  
  
  
  
*********************   
  
Methos jumped out of the bed, feeling his bare chest for a   
wound. His adrenaline ripped through him. He was  
gasping. The lingering atmosphere of his dream draped across his   
conscience as he tried to orient himself to where he actually   
was.   
  
  
"A dream," He said, still looking around his bed chamber as if something   
was going to attack him. Methos fell heavily upon a chair as he draped his   
head between his knees, "...a dream." 


	5. MC 5

**************************   
CO. CORK, IRELAND   
CLONAKILTY   
BYRONY ESTATE   
1847: SAME EVENING   
***************************   
  
Meaghan slid into the awaiting bath. She'd come back from her sparring   
match to find that Catherine had employed her son and grandson, Thomas   
and Liam, to help bring a tub and heated water up to her bed chamber.   
  
Meaghan made a note to herself, to thank the O'Sheas, rather feverently   
because the warm water felt fantastic against her aching muscles. God,   
but they hurt. Where was the immortal healing, already? Had Evan   
worked her beyond its capabilities? Lord, she hoped not.   
  
Meaghan sank down into the bubbles, the water's jasmine scent clinging   
to her skin. It was all just so frustrating - fighting, hurting, training...   
Evan.   
  
Evan...   
  
He was frustrating or rather, her feelings toward him were. She   
hated feeling vulnerable. Let whatever happen, happen, as long as it   
didn't touch her heart. That was her new plan of action because   
devastation had reigned there too many times before.   
  
But she knew herself.   
  
She knew she had very little control over what her heart chose to cling to, and   
it   
had clung to everyone at Byrony and that included Catherine, Liam,   
Thomas... and now, Evan.   
  
She didn't know when or why or how it had happened, but... she had fallen in   
love with Evan.   
  
'No, that was a lie,' she told herself as she scrunched down further within the   
copper tub, the warm water lapping against her skin. 'Let's start from the   
beginning.' She did know when. It was the same time that she realized she'd   
accepted God again. 'Was it only three months ago? Yes, only three.'   
  
  
**************   
CO. CORK, IRELAND   
BYRONY ESTATE   
3 MONTHS   
EARLIER   
1847   
**************   
  
"Meaghan, re-read the last part," Evan instructed. She looked up. Both   
of them sat at a table, across from each other. It was later in the   
evening, the usual hour for their tutoring session. The kitchen was   
lit by the licking flames of the hearth and the candles that sat upon the   
table. Meaghan read aloud while Evan listened to her.   
  
She took a deep breath, her eyes captured the flickering flame of the   
candle light before they rolled over to look at Evan.   
  
Meaghan closed her eyes, scolding herself. He was the one taking his time   
to teach her, she knew that... but her own impatience with her progress was   
taking a toll on her. Maybe that wasn't the complete truth of the   
matter, partial, but not the complete truth.   
  
For some reason, it was the constant nights like these, alone with Evan, that   
were taking their toll on her. It was the time of night when Catherine   
retired, Thomas and Liam were safely ensconced in their, well, Byrony's   
gate cottage, and Evan and Meaghan were left, alone, to study. She finally   
opened her eyes as she heard a scrape against the pine table.   
  
Meaghan watched as Evan picked up his glass and downed half of the Guiness   
it contained. She gave a slight start as he slammed the tankard onto the table.   
Licking the foam from the top of his lip, Evan met her stare. She blushed,   
turning her gaze away from him to lock her eyes onto her own brew. Reaching   
out, she brought the drink to her mouth. She inhaled the bitter scent before   
swallowing down almost as much as Evan had.   
  
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, but she needed that.   
  
"Are you ready?" Evan asked, leaning back against his chair.   
  
"I don't be seeing how this be so bloody important!" Meaghan griped, as she   
turned her stare to the book sitting upon the table before her. She waited for   
him to answer, but he remained silent, causing her to look up again. Mistake,   
that was, because he had leaned across the table. He was a breath's distance   
away from her. She gasped, the close proximity left her feeling... she didn't   
know how. The crackling blaze from the hearth bathed his profile in a warm   
glow and she noticed, also, how the candle light flickered upon his hazel eyes.   
She   
felt compelled to stare at the hazel orbs, no, at him. Her heart sped up and she   
  
felt like it was about to burst out of her chest.   
  
Confusion spread across her senses and she pulled away. Meaghan rubbed   
her cheek for her skin felt like it had brushed against fire, itself. She shook   
her head, trying to clear her thoughts.   
  
"You don't see the importance?" Evan asked, still stretched above the   
table's surface.   
  
'Did he whisper that?' She wondered, if felt like he had. She looked at   
him as she pushed herself back against the wooden chair. Through her   
dress, she could feel the chair's spindles impressing against her back.   
  
'What was wrong with her? Why was she suddenly so afraid of him. Her   
thoughts threaded their way to their first no, their second meeting. She   
remembered being afraid of him then... but this was... it was different. She   
remembered how he looked standing over her, tall, imposing... dangerous.   
  
Had it felt like she couldn't breathe then? Meaghan stared at him, the candle   
light caused shadows to fall across his face, under his hanging bangs, and his   
nose shadowed his one cheek. Her mouth was dry... She felt muddled and   
hated feeling that way... absolutely hated it! Meaghan pushed the chair back   
across the floor and stood up. The sound of wood scraping against wood   
reverberated in her ears. She had to get away... had to!   
  
Meaghan walked across the room, to the door that lay nestled beyond the   
light's reach... it was her avenue of escape. It was true that she'd   
always loved being in this room, but now, if she had to, she would claw her   
way out of it. She wanted to escape that badly.   
  
Why did she feel this pressing need to run away? Why? For, she loved the   
feel that the kitchen gave her. It was the closest place that resembled what   
she used to know. It reminded her of her family's cottage, of her home.   
  
She supposed the remembrances were because of the many things   
to be found in there... furniture, stored bathtubs, tables, chairs and an open   
hearth to name but a few. It was more than a kitchen; it was a place to relax   
and just talk. There was even plush chairs - two of them book ending the fire   
place and there was Catherine's rocking chair, which made up the room's   
total furnishings.   
  
Though the kitchen had so many similarities to what she knew, it differed   
in one major respect. With everything to be found there, she was the only   
Kineally to be among them.   
  
She thought on her family often, though with less sorrow and bitterness then   
before... for she'd reconciled herself to their loss. It was just... the   
memories   
of them would surround her, pressing their way to the forefront of her mind.   
She was glad for it. Glad that they came to visit for a spell. It was the only   
way she held onto her family and so she cherished their intrusions.   
  
Her thoughts turned back to Byrony, itself. She still found it remarkable,   
even after being at Byrony for over five months. How could such a place   
exist?   
  
The whole house was warm and welcoming, but particularly the kitchen, holding   
echos of a past life that wrapped around her heart and warmed her better than   
anything in all of Ireland. Yes, that was why she loved this room.   
  
Before Evan had come back to Byrony, Catherine, Meaghan, Thomas and   
Liam spent many a night around the hungry fire, just talking and   
sitting. Liam seemed to love to entertain, and more particularly, he seemed to   
love to entertain Meaghan. She marveled at the young man. He was always   
engaging her in games, in questions and filling her in on his day's antics.   
  
It seemed that the times that she had felt most maudlin, where the times   
when Liam would barrage her with a litany of his day's activities. He refused   
to allow her her dark silent musings.   
  
Liam would speak to her with such zest and zeal that she was always hard   
put to silence him. He was all fire and passion and no matter how hard she   
told herself she would pretend to listen, it was not to be so. She would soon   
find herself getting caught up in his silken web of stories.   
  
Liam's "adventures in Tir a na nog" were especially riveting. He seemed to   
visit that fairy land often or so his tales would lead one to think. He would   
describe it so clear, so completely, she could believe he'd been there, touched   
its very grass and bathed in its rainbows.   
  
The storyteller had a captivated audience with not just Meaghan but   
everyone in the room. He had a talent, of that she would never deny.   
Eventually it would come time when Liam would be telling a new reel   
of adventures and Catherine would just call to him in that tone she   
seemed to have, ending his stories and signaling his imminent bed time.   
It was just another trait of Catherine's that reminded Meaghan of her   
mother, another key opening the door to those echoes.   
  
Yes, she loved the feeling that this kitchen gave her, the feeling of home.   
  
But now... now, she felt caught. She wanted out of the room, but it was as if a   
shackle had gripped her leg, refusing her any further distance. Evan called   
out to her.   
  
"Meaghan?"   
  
She felt the swinging door beneath her palms. She spread her hands back   
and forth across its cool, grainy surface. She didn't turn around as she   
answered him.   
  
"What?" She choked. Why was it so hard to talk? So hard to breathe even?   
  
"You didn't answer my question." He said. She had heard his chair slide   
back . She knew he wasn't near her for his voice traveled the few yards of   
heavy air that she felt between them.   
  
Meaghan took a deep breath and turned back to face Evan. Escape was mere   
inches behind her, and yet... at the same time... so far away. She responded to   
him   
the only way that she could. He still sat in his chair but he seemed to be   
draped   
against it, rather than sitting in it. What was wrong with her?!? She narrowed   
her   
eyes as she looked upon his careless posture.   
  
"What!?!" She snapped then bit her lip. Why did she have to do that, he didn't   
do anything to her. He was helping her, teaching her to read... something she'd   
always wanted to know.   
  
"You don't see the importance, I'd asked." Evan said seeming to study her very   
innards... his look was so piercing. Meaghan forced herself to walk back to him.   
  
His hum rattled within her head but she dismissed it as it faded and evened out   
with her own.   
  
"The importance of reading? Yes, I do see it... but why does it have to be the   
Bible?" Meaghan asked, she could hear the pleading quality in her voice. The   
book - why did she feel as if it burned her fingers just to touch it. Could she   
hate something so much?   
  
Evan interrupted her thoughts.   
  
"Because it is familiar. It is a work of art despite its content. Because it is   
something that you can't keep stepping away from." Evan finished. He stood   
up and walked over to Meaghan. She'd crossed back to the edge of the candles'   
reaching light.   
  
Evan had seemed to move so fast that he startled Meaghan. He grabbed   
her arms and turned her around so that her back was to the table and his face   
was lighted by the candles' flames. His hands felt warm against her skin... they   
  
always did, warmer than should be normal. Evan released her. Meaghan could   
still feel the imprint of his fingers against her skin as she let what he'd said   
  
fully sink in and she became angry.   
  
"Steppin' away from the Bible? God?" Meaghan asked. Her skin heated   
again but with a different intensity. "I didna step away from God. God   
stepped away from me. He's the one that left me family to die, me Gabriel   
to die... even 'me' to die, but me death was only after he'd treated me   
with an experience of what Hell must surely be like!"   
  
Evan stood before her. She watched him as if an outside observer, so caught   
up in her stirred feelings, she was almost unresponsive. Meaghan watched him   
grab her hand and direct her backward as he stepped forward. The thought of   
breaking away from him played about her head but the hard pressure of his   
fingers wrapped - no enclosing her hand, banished that thought. She found that   
he had moved her toward Catherine's rocking chair, the back of her legs   
rubbed against it, causing it to bow some.   
  
"Sit." He ordered, and she did. He reached into his vest pocket and   
pulled something out... fisted within his palm. Evan didn't allow her to see   
what he held, at least, he hadn't yet.   
  
Then he surprised Meaghan by his sudden crouching beside her, which she   
saw was forcing him to look up some to completely see her face. In return, he   
filled Meaghan's view, making her unable to look anywhere but at him.   
  
"Listen to me," Evan said, then paused before speaking. She watched Evan as   
he seemed to struggle with how to say what he wanted to tell her. But what could   
  
he tell her of God that would make any difference. Nothing.   
  
"I don't devalue your reasons for your hatred of a God." Meaghan stiffened.   
"Yes. Does it hurt to hear it out in the open? Do you think it would make a   
difference whether you utter it or think it? God is all knowing isn't that how   
it   
goes? If so, it should make no difference whether you say it or think it, isn't   
that right?"   
  
Evan paused, seeming to gage her reaction, then continued.   
  
"I know little of what you've gone through and I am not asking to know.   
There are things that I've... done or gone through that I don't like to talk of   
either. " He paused, "Everyone has something that is better left alone. You   
asked me why I have you read the Bible... and it was for the reasons that I've   
said. But there is something else to it which I haven't mentioned."   
  
"And what would that be?" Meaghan asked in a dull voice, yet her attention   
was fully engaged.   
  
"God and your struggle with him taints everything you do. You are in a   
constant battle over your conflicting beliefs... I see you pull back at that."   
Evan observed," You so desperately want to deny any place in your heart   
for Him but the thought of God still sneaks in. It makes you angry and   
unfocused and that is dangerous. Everything you do is affected. This   
is what I see."   
  
"Yea see ghosts too?" Meaghan snapped, smartly.   
  
"I guess you could say that; yes. I see the ghost of your old vision of God,   
fighting with this new view of Him." Evan answered. "What you don't seem to   
see is that the fight is over."   
  
"What are yea talkin' about? Yea be talkin' nonsense."   
  
"Am I? Evan questioned, an eye brow raised, he continued, "It's really simple,   
what I am talking about, I mean. You have combined the two. Look into   
yourself and you will see the truth of my words."   
  
Meaghan sat back against the rocking chair, stunned. She wanted to deny   
what he said. It was so easy to blame someone that couldn't argue against it.   
But was what he said, true? According to Catherine, God was who brought   
her here. God is who gave her back her life. God was who... gave her a family   
again. God was who gave her... love.   
  
Meaghan gasped. Looking down at the still perched Evan. She felt unable to   
close her widened eyes. Was this true? Was Love what seemed to burrow   
its trail through her restraints and under her skin... was that the flame that   
heated her cheeks when there was no apparent heat to come by?   
  
Yes, the answer was simple in saying but hard in coming to.   
  
Yes. Meaghan felt her eyes water. Evan was like a thorn in her side. He   
forced her to look at things - to do things that she would otherwise feel   
incapable of. From teaching her to read, to riding a horse, to wearing "pants"   
of all things, and to making her learn the sword. He never let her give up on   
anything that would guarantee the safety of her life.   
  
Evan was her teacher. He seemed always to be making her see things and   
abilities that she was unaware of. It seemed he had taught her again. But,   
it was more than the lesson of God and her acceptance of Him. That, all   
of a sudden, was an easy lesson. Could Evan know of her love for him, for   
Evan?   
  
  
She was a student... his student and she suspected that to be all. Though   
maybe not, there were times she was sure his stare held her longer, or his   
touch lingered... even if that was a touch of tangled swords and fighting   
bodies.   
  
But, he was right. She knew she tried not to deal with God at any level but   
he seemed to want to deal with her. And maybe it was habit that forced her to   
plead against reading the Bible. If she were honest with herself, she had   
reconciled the two opposing views.. an evil God and a loving God -, long ago.   
  
Maybe it had been that day at the lake with Catherine that she'd accepted   
both, but then again, perhaps not. She couldn't say for certain. Meaghan   
felt that she couldn't classify her amended faith, but that   
was fine because, faith, again, had found her and that was what the most   
important aspect was.   
  
"Yea 're right." Meaghan said, her voice solid as she gazed at Evan. From   
his rumpled hair, to his angled features, to his insistent eyes, he was right.   
  
Evan raised his clenched palm and his other hand grabbed one of   
hers. "Open your fingers."   
  
Meaghan obeyed. Evan raised his clenched hand over her palm and then   
opened it. She felt warmed metal fall onto her skin.   
  
"I kept this, unknowing at first. I'd found it tangled within Fury's mane."   
  
Evan moved his hand away from hers to reveal her chain and cross. It   
had been missing. Meaghan knew it had been, but she couldn't remember   
where she had it last. She thought it was lost forever, another sign of His   
abandonment. But here it was before her, again.   
  
"I didn't give it to you right away. You needed the time to come to a   
resolution. Whether you wanted to keep it or whether you wanted to   
toss it away."   
  
Meaghan picked up the cross in her other hand and held it before her   
face, she then looked past it, to Evan." This was found with me when I was   
left at Father Aidan's church. It was the only thing I had that bound me to   
where I came from. I..."   
  
She paused, feeling the tears slip down her face as she sniffled. Her   
voice was soft and breathy as she continued." Then, it was more than just   
a link to an unknown past. It was the only thing that I had that let me feel   
in touch with me family while I was at the work house. I can't thank yea   
enough... for this, for everything yea've done. I have never had anyone   
treat me, no - take care of me, the way that yea have. Yea've opened yea   
home to me, yea've taught me so many things and now... yea've given me   
back a piece of me past that I want to always remember."   
  
Meaghan squeezed her eyes shut, letting her head hit the back of the   
rocking chair.   
  
"Shall I?" Evan asked. Meaghan opened her eyes and saw Evan stand   
up before her. She followed suit with the aid of his hand then she ran an   
arm across her cheek to wipe away the fallen tears. She smiled at him as   
she felt her heart hammering.   
  
Evan had pulled her up to stand before him. She handed over the newly   
recovered chain and turned around for him to string it around her neck.   
Meaghan gathered her hair and raised it atop her head. Evan then threaded   
his hands around her neck , holding either end of the necklace.   
  
She shivered as she felt his callused fingers brush against the sides   
of her neck. He paused his movements.   
  
"Are you sure you are resolved," Evan asked. Was his voice, his lips   
almost touching her ear?... It felt that close. She shivered again.   
  
"Yes." Meaghan answered. How could a man be so kind? So giving? She   
knew she truly loved him, and not for what he gave her in the way of   
material possessions, but what he gave of himself. To her, Evan gave her   
trust, a friendship, faith against things that seemed insurmountable. With   
his presence and guidance... she felt drawn to him. It was more than   
gratitude, though she did feel that, it was simply... him.. Evan.   
She loved him. She'd have to live with that revelation for a bit.   
  
*******************************   
  
And so she had. No, she never entered into anything lightly and that   
included unreservedly following her feelings. But that didn't mean that   
her feelings would sprout up in other forms, they did, particularly her   
seemedly favorite emotion, anger.   
  
Just watching him as they'd sparred earlier today had provoked her   
feelings for him. Add exhaustion to that, and she was surprised he allowed   
her to keep her head... but to be that close to him was, well, could be a   
distraction. She knew that her feelings for him contributed to the often   
loss of her sword, or falling on her bum. She knew that, but he didn't.   
  
She thought back to his last, farewell scrutiny of her at the end of   
their practice. She wondered if Evan had found what he'd been searching   
for within her. She feared she might never know that answer. He was a   
hard one to read and the times when she felt that she could read him left her   
with a sneaking suspicion that it was only what he allowed her to see - as   
if he had control over everything he did. She supposed living "longer than   
most" could give you such control. She still wondered at that bit of trivia.   
Trust... did he trust her? Had these past six months garnered even a bit of   
it? She would have to say that it seemed so.   
  
Evan was more open than he'd ever been with her, friendship wise anyway.   
They'd spent many an intimate night, just the two of them, as he continued   
to teach her to read and then later, directed her from the kitchen study room to   
the   
library where there were works that he felt she should read. She found that   
he had such a passion for books and knowledge that it nearly amazed.   
She loved the conversations they would have over a particular author or   
work. Byrony's library was filled with books... criticisms, biographies, and the   
  
actual works. She found she liked reading as much as she could on a   
particular author and then discussing him or her with Evan - and that was   
another thing that struck her... women writers? Reading, for as long as she   
had known had been for men, and that mostly consisted of "figures" to be   
sure that they weren't swindled come harvest time. But here, women were   
not only permitted to read, but wrote as well. It was inspiring. She found   
herself liking Jane Austen. She learned quite a bit about this thing called   
"proper society" from her works... though she felt that if stuck in such a   
place she might gag from it.   
  
The Bronte sisters were her favorite. They seemed to capture her feelings,   
She often felt that the landscapes they described could capture her more   
than even the heroines did. Though they, too, spoke to her soul.   
.   
Then there was Mary Shelly's Frankenstein. This was the one book that she   
did not discuss with Evan. If anything had ever hit her, it was the idea of   
Frankenstein's monster... and the possibility that she might one day identify   
with the monster. It petrified her to think about that, but then again, she was   
unable to stop her thoughts on it. Would she end up as that monster? Living   
forever, alone, isolated... oh maybe not in the frozen tundra but within her   
own created Iceland?   
  
God, she hoped against hope that, that would never happen. Prayed   
was more the word to describe it. What spiked this seemingly irrational   
fear? What? But she knew what... Evan.   
  
She would watch him sometimes when they sat together at night. He would   
appear so solitary, so unreachable even though he merely sat across the   
room. Distance stretched around him and her heart would break. She   
ached to cross that invisible expanse. She wondered if that were possible?   
There was something about him that reached for her, she could feel it. He   
was in control of so much of his emotions, but she believed that it wasn't   
a complete control, for something sneaked out from under his guard. It snuck   
out and called to her heart, demanding to be caressed.   
  
Soon, she knew it was to be soon. Things were going to come to a head   
between them. There was no way they could not. Whether Evan realized   
it or not, a confrontation of the unspoken would occur.   
  
Meaghan would not run away from it. She was tired of running, of running   
away from life. Though Evan had lived for as long as he had, she wasn't   
yet sure if he was through with his own running, but then again, Meaghan   
would soon know that answer, wouldn't she? 


	6. MC 6

**************************   
CO. CORK, IRELAND   
CLONAKILTY   
BYRONY ESTATE   
1847: Byrony's House Garden   
***************************   
  
Meaghan closed her eyes against the bright morning sun as if by   
doing so the light that illuminated her thoughts would be blocked as   
well. It wasn't. She took a wearied breath. The breeze played   
about her hair lifting stray strands across her face and tickling her   
skin. She wished that were the only thing she was feeling but it   
wasn't .  
  
Jesus, Mary and Joseph but it wasn't.   
  
It all seemed so simple, so easy to do. Just say the words and let   
the pieces of her life fall into place as they would. But the puzzle   
didn't fall into the picture she'd envisioned, not at all.   
  
**************************   
CO. CORK, IRELAND   
CLONAKILTY   
BYRONY ESTATE   
1847: Yesterday at Dusk   
***************************   
  
  
She'd tell Evan of her feelings soon. That was what she'd   
promised herself. But soon was easily said, not easily done.   
Time had collected into days, weeks and then months, two months to   
be exact and still she had not dared to utter the weight that pressed   
against her soul. Many times she tried, floundered, then   
snapped her mouth closed in embarrassment, which then quickly   
turned to anger - her most vigilant and constant companion.   
  
Meaghan gave a wearied sigh. She was tired, tired of repressing   
her emotions yet afraid to utter them.   
  
Meaghan stood in the upper gallery, looking down onto the marbled   
floor of Byrony's foyer. It was dusk and the room had a vacant,   
shadowed quality. It was the time of day right before the oil wicks   
were lit. The ambience of the room seemed to fit her mood. She felt   
isolated and... isolated and lonely.   
  
To say that things were not going well between Evan and herself   
would be the grandest understatement of all time. Everyday that   
past by created more and more tension between them.   
Meaghan struggled to get a hold of herself but every time she felt   
that she had succeeded, one comment, one remark from him would   
send her over the cliff. It wasn't just her either. It couldn't be.   
Evan was deliberately provoking her, there was no doubt in her   
mind. He'd told her that she had to get control of her emotions, of   
her anger. Well, he wasn't helping any, that was for certain.   
  
The one that seemed to suffer the most was Catherine, at least that's   
how it seemed to her. Meaghan felt that she couldn't discuss Evan with   
Catherine and she knew that her friend must be feeling closed off. But she   
couldn't help it, she could barely think on Evan, let alone talk with   
another person about him.   
  
"Meaghan," Catherine called to her, coming from the west wing into   
the gallery. She had heard Catherine coming toward her -one of many   
little tricks that Evan had taught her. Listening, identifying steps of the   
people you knew so that you could differentiate between the ones   
that you didn't. That ability could very well save my life according   
to Evan.   
  
Meaghan turned around and faced Catherine. The older woman was   
ringing her hands in front of herself.   
  
'Please Lord, tell me that I not be doin' that ta her,' Meaghan   
thought to herself as she watched Catherine approach her with   
slowed, cautious steps - but she was. The Lord wasn't kind enough   
to lie to her and she didn't expect it.   
  
Meaghan rushed her steps over to Catherine clasping her hands as   
she took in her friend's worried countenance. "How are yea,   
Catherine."   
  
Meaghan squeezed her hands and felt a returning pressure.   
  
"I be fine, lass. Just worried about yea tis all,' Catherine said, smiling   
up at Meaghan," Yea've been standin' in this gallery for so very long.   
It's time for dinner and I thought I'd be comin' ta fetch yea."   
  
"Dinner? I'm not hungry," Meaghan answered. She felt like she   
couldn't eat anything, that her stomach was barred with a million   
knots closing it up nice and tightly.   
  
" Yea've got to eat somethin'. Yea need to be keepin' up yea're   
strength, what with how Mr. Evan keeps working you out in the   
meadow."   
  
Meaghan turned a quick look to Catherine. "Yea know about that?"   
  
Catherine chuckled. "Well it would be hard not knowin' about that.   
Liam told me about yea work with Mr. Evan, though why he would want   
you to learn goes beyond me faculities. I do hear that yea have   
become quite good, or so Liam tells it."   
  
"Does he now," Meaghan replied, thinking on the warning that Evan   
had bestowed upon the boy. Well, the lad was a lad after all. It   
was amazing that Evan never spotted him again. He seems to know   
everything that happens around him. Meaghan smiled,   
apparently he *didn't* know everything.   
  
"I still have no stomach for food Catherine, " Meaghan replied, and   
no stomach for facing Evan across the table, no matter that others   
would be there.   
  
"Yea can't avoid him forever," Catherine said, her voice soft as she   
laid a hand upon Meaghan's forearm.   
  
"What was that?" Meaghan asked, staring in shock.   
  
"Don't yea think I be knowin' what is goin' on under this roof? Not   
even a blind person could miss it." Catherine said, rubbing   
Meaghan's arm as if to soften the revelation.   
  
"I have no id..." Meaghan halted her words as tears streamed down   
her cheek.   
  
"Catherine," she cried, falling against the woman. Catherine was a   
soft cushion of warmth as Meaghan spoke against her shoulder.   
"What am I ever to be doin' about this mess?"   
  
"I imagine the same thing that he should be doin'… Telling yea how   
yea feel about one another." Catherine whispered in Meaghan's ear.   
  
"What," Meaghan asked, pulling away from Catherine, " What are yea   
sayin' ta me?"   
  
"Yea two have been at odds with each other far too long a time and   
yea both have the same reason for it," Catherine said, brushing   
Meaghan's black strands from her face. She whispered," I haven't   
lived this long to not know what I see goin' on right before   
me eyes."   
  
Meaghan smiled and wondered again just how old Evan was. Age   
was becoming something of an arbitrary issue.   
  
"Yea don't believe me?" Catherine asked, studyin' her.   
  
"It's not that I don't believe yea, more that I can't believe yea. Evan…   
he… well, he is a man of the world and what am I, someone he   
helped in a time of need. I am nothing ta him, nothing but a poor   
Irish lass who had the good fortune to happen upon a kind man   
durin' me most troubled time."   
  
"Nonsense," Catherine scoffed, gripping the sides of Meaghan's   
arms. " I don't want to be hearin' such talk from yea again. Yea are   
more than that, much more. Can't yea see? Don't yea know? Hmm... I   
suppose not. Lord knows that yea've reason ta miss it. Listen ta me.   
Yea're a beautiful, educated and kind lass. Yes, Mr. Evan helped you,   
all right. But he's a gentleman as I've said before."   
  
Catherine paused to make sure Meaghan was listening. " But Meaghan,   
he doesn't look upon yea with the remote eyes of one who is better than   
yea. No, 'tis something more to it than that, and yea can call me a fool or   
light in me stitches, but I know what I be knowin'. Mr. Evan and yea   
are in the same pond. It's high time yea both realize that before yea   
say or do too many things that yea might regret."   
  
Catherine cupped her soft, wrinkled hands against Meaghan's cheeks,   
staring into her eyes, her tone serious. "I've heard the arguments,   
the silences that seem to get longer and longer between yea two. What   
man would stay in such a situation when he has the freedom to do as   
he pleases. What seems to please him is staying at Byrony, staying   
with yea.   
  
As quickly as Meaghan's hopes rose, they dashed against Catherine's   
following words. 'Please him to be stayin' here?', not quite the truth.   
Evan seems to feel this unrelenting sense of duty to make her the   
best she can be with this immortal game. Duty, not love, that was   
what kept him there. Meaghan knew that.   
  
Yet there was this little part of her that clung to Catherine's words,   
that needled her and wouldn't let go. Was it wishful thinking?   
Lord, she desperately hoped not. Maybe Catherine was right.   
Maybe the time had come to end this feuding once and for all. She   
didn't think she could stand it much longer. Something had to give   
and soon. Meaghan decided to take her fate into her own hands,   
hoping for the best yet dreading the worst. It was time to face   
things head on… she couldn't, wouldn't, allow things to go unsaid   
any longer.   
  
"Thank yea Catherine, yea've given me quite a bit to think on,"   
Meaghan said, smiling a bittersweet smile, "I'll be in me room."   
  
"All right Lass, that's it then, think upon what I tell yea," Catherine said,   
stepping back and letting go of Meaghan. She watched as Catherine   
descended down the steps and walked out of view, making her way into   
the kitchen.   
  
  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
Meaghan lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, though not really seeing   
anything but her thoughts. So, perhaps Catherine was right, at least   
in one respect. She couldn't take much more confrontation with   
Evan. It was nigh pushing her off the edge.   
  
The fighting wasn't just because of her. She knew that. Catherine had   
pretty much confirmed that Meaghan wasn't out of her mind. Evan had   
been deliberately going to the trouble of provoking her.   
  
She couldn't count the many times her temper escaped over something   
he'd said or did. What infuriated her most was that as easy as it was   
for him to set off her ire, she couldn't seem to garner any response   
from him. She wanted to demand the reason for his sudden change   
of attitude. It couldn't be what Catherine'd suggested, no.   
  
Things between Evan and her were getting more and more agitated.   
Her temper was becoming volatile, though she held it in check while   
sparring with Evan. She'd learned that lesson early on.   
  
It was funny. She was more in control of herself then she'd ever   
been and yet more out of control at the same time. She had tried to   
make sense of that paradox, but the answer seemed unattainable.   
  
Barely a civil word passed between them these days. The only time   
they talked to each other was when they had to.   
  
Evan. She could feel him distancing himself.   
  
Then it hit her.   
  
Was it almost time for her training to end? Had she become a   
nuisance to him now? Or did he know how she felt about   
him ? Was he pushing her away, saving her the embarrassment of   
revelation? No. He wouldn't, would he?   
  
Yet, those reasons seemed more feasible to her than what Catherine   
said.   
  
So, would he do those things? She didn't know. But that was the thing, she   
didn't know him, not really. She knew the person he presented to   
her but for some reason she also knew that it wasn't him, not totally.   
It was that little part of him that still reached out to her while the   
rest remained shuttered against anything else - the one part that   
kept him from being Shelly's monster.   
  
Yet that one part of him wasn't enough anymore. The atmosphere   
in Byrony was laden with tension and whether it stemmed from just   
her or from both of them, it mixed between them. She couldn't take   
it anymore. She'd been at Byrony for well over a year and a half,   
trained for almost that long. She was a good swordsman. How   
many times had she come close to beating the man who was "older   
than most"… more than a few. She seemed to have a natural   
instinct with the sword, which made her wonder if all immortals had   
the same success as she. She hoped not, self-preservation guided   
her sentiment.   
  
She was determined. She was leaving Byrony. The prospect thrilled   
and petrified her at the same time but she wouldn't run from what   
she had to do. It was time to leave, hadn't Evan made it abundantly   
clear? Meaghan felt like she'd been struck and she fell upon a chair,   
dazed.   
  
That was it, wasn't it? It was time for her to go but he wouldn't be   
the first to initiate it. Evan had said over and over again, with more   
frequency than at other times, that he wouldn't be her teacher forever.   
It wasn't how the game was played. The student had to strike out on his   
or her own eventually. She had to leave.   
  
Jesus, Mary and Joseph!   
  
It was all clear now, all clear. Meaghan felt sick to her stomach as   
the full realization wrapped itself around her conscience. She   
jumped off her bed and ran over to the chamber pot, dry- heaving.   
Of course she wouldn't be throwing up anything. She'd barely been   
eating lately. Her stomach felt like someone had gone to the   
trouble of tightening the intricate knots composed of her innards. She   
wiped a bit of spittle from the corner of her mouth and stumbled away   
from the chamber pot. She stood in the middle of her room staring at   
nothing. The truth of Evan's actions continued to batter against her   
thoughts. She couldn't say how long she'd stayed frozen in thought,   
but when she broke free a fired determination lit, underscoring her   
actions.   
  
Anger, her dearest weapon, was now sharpened and ready to   
attack. How dare he! Meaghan stormed out of her room and   
searched out the house looking for Evan. She went to the library,   
the kitchen and even his room.. . he wasn't there. She stormed   
back into the kitchen, still he wasn't in there, but Catherine was.   
  
"What is it Lass?" Catherine asked, as Meaghan stood stock still,   
smoldering in angered energy.   
  
"Have yea seen Evan?" Meaghan asked without looking at Catherine.   
Meaghan never wanted to lash out at Catherine but she knew she   
inevitably would if she didn't find Evan and soon.   
  
"He's in the garden," Catherine answered. Meaghan released a   
heavy breath and turned her attention upon Catherine. "Thank yea   
and ….. and I be so sorry, it won't be the way...," Meaghan paused,   
giving an exasperated growl," I'm just sorry."   
  
"Sorry?" Catherine asked as Meaghan near flew out of the kitchen.   
Catherine called to Meaghan's retreating figure." Sorry for what?"   
  
Meaghan burst into the fading sunlight, a small fireball herself as she   
stormed through the garden searching out Evan. She felt his "buzz"   
as she got closer to the English Maze.   
  
'He would go in there, wouldn't he?" Meaghan growled entering the   
shrubbery.   
  
"Evan!" Meaghan called. There was no disguising her anger. It   
punctuated every syllable of his name.   
  
No response. This only lent more fury to the flames. She tore   
through the maze searching, but she continuously hit dead ends.   
Meaghan growled in frustration. Finally the maze released her into   
the center garden where Evan sat upon one of the marble benches,   
eating an apple.   
  
"I wondered when you would find me," Evan remarked, keeping his   
casual sprawl across his resting spot, tossing the apple core over   
the wall of shrubbery.   
  
"Did ya now?" Meaghan scathed. She came to stand before him,   
glaring.   
  
Evan began to speak but Meaghan cut him off.   
  
"Don't! Don't yea dare talk ta me!" Meaghan growled. Then laughed a   
hard, deep chuckle that near tore her heart apart. "I am on ta yea   
now. I know yea're game. I can take a hint. Us Kineallys aren't   
stupid, yea know."   
  
Meaghan paced back and forth before him. "Well, I be here to save   
yea the trouble, I am leavin' Byrony. Yea've made yea point   
abundantly clear. I don't be knowin' why I was so daft about it fer so   
long."   
  
"Is that so?" Evan replied.   
  
Meaghan turned to him and yelled. "Yes , that be SO!!"   
  
She just stared at him. He had sat up, giving her his full attention,   
but not much else. There was no clue to how her words affected   
him. He showed no joy, no relief and no sorrow. Damn him!   
  
Yes, in her heart of hearts she'd hoped to be wrong but it apparently   
wasn't the way of it. There was no disappointment reflected on his   
clear features. He gave no measured response to her words.   
  
Meaghan let out a growl of frustration then fell to her knees before   
him, leaning her head against her knees and rocking to and fro.   
She began to sob uncontrollably, her anger, confusion and love   
twisting the knot in her stomach tighter and wrenching the tears   
from her eyes.   
  
The touch upon her shoulder didn't register at first. She was   
sheathed in her pain so completely that she felt and heard nothing   
outside of her own anguish. The pressure increased upon her   
shoulder, sliding down her back. Meaghan leaped up, twisting   
away from Evan.   
  
"Don't yea touch me!" Meaghan cried, reaching into the folds of her   
dress and unsheathing her sword. She wiped at her face with her   
free hand, sniffig back the tears as she stared at Evan.   
  
She'd glimpsed pity then nothing else as he schooled his features   
once again. "I won't be havin' none of yea're pity. Yea've made your   
point, I'm ready. I will leave here and yea… and never will yea have to   
see me face again."   
  
Meaghan's tears had stopped and she felt cold inside, perhaps even   
a bit dead.   
  
"Is this what you want?" Evan asked, standing up before her and   
slowly crossing the distance she'd put between them. She suddenly   
got the irrational fear of being stalked down like prey but he had   
come to stand at the tip of her sword. The metal pressing against   
his green vest.   
  
"It not be matterin' what I want, does it," Meaghan asked. She did   
not lower her sword and she did not back away from him.   
  
Here was the man that she loved and it hurt. God almighty it hurt   
but good. What was the use caring?   
  
'Everything and everyone I hold dear gets ripped away from me in   
some shape or form.' She thought. How many times did she have   
to be taught that lesson? Suddenly she knew with absolute   
certainty what she was.   
  
It wasn't Evan who had become Shelly's monster, but herself. No,   
Evan wasn't her Dr. Frankenstein, immortality was and she felt   
removed. Her prayers had not been answered. She was incased   
in the frozen tundra of beaten emotions. She had no will to fight   
against it, not anymore.   
  
She would, she could, deal with this condition. Hadn't she been   
doing that since the work houses? So she was granted a slight   
reprieve, a hoax that tricked her into thinking that life and love   
was possible. She knew now. She'd learned.   
  
"Before you go…" Evan began then whipped his sword out and   
crashed it against her own. Meaghan didn't expect that, but then   
she'd become accustomed to expecting the unexpected. She   
quickly fell back and spun around with the force of Evan's blow,   
cutting and aiming for him as she recovered from the parry.   
  
Meaghan swung and hit air. She felt a slice across her back and spun   
around again facing him. She did not attack him with anger, but   
cool, deliberate concentration. She knew this was the game. If he   
chose to battle her, then she couldn't stop that. What she knew was   
that she didn't go through all the trouble of training, recovering - only   
to die in the end. No, she would not give up her head. She would   
fight 'til the very last moment when God decided it was time to end   
her suffering.   
  
She swung again, but each time she did, the only thing that she cut   
was the air. It began to frustrate her, but still she retained her   
focus. Suddenly Evan was upon her, swinging and thrusting, cutting   
beyond her guard and nicking her arms, legs and stomach. She   
tried desperately to protect her neck. She was afraid, this wasn't   
how it was supposed to end, not *her* life.   
  
Whereas before she could land a hit, many a hit, now she had no   
chance. He was a storm of blurred movement as she tried to keep   
up with him.   
  
Meaghan's control was slipping. Her arms ached; her whole body   
ached. She wasn't healing as fast as she was being cut. The smell   
of blood and grass filled her nostrils as she parried and parried and   
parried. It was never enough. Finally she froze.   
  
Cold steel rested against her neck. Meaghan dropped her weapon to   
the matted grass. She gulped against the chilled metal.   
  
This was it. She would not beg to live. She would die with dignity,   
what little she had left. She was a Kineally after all, and dignity  
was all she had left.  
  
"Do it," Meaghan whispered, choking back her tears. Her eyes   
streamed with water and she couldn't see anything now but blurred   
colors and lights. The back of her head rested upon her neck as her   
chin reached for the amber colored sky, the clouds streaking across its   
surface.   
  
The blade was still present against her skin. The metal was beginning   
to warm. Meaghan's breathing was heavy, labored.   
  
"Just DO IT!" Meaghan screamed, her spirit broken, along with her   
heart.   
  
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!" Evan screamed, pushing her   
away. Meaghan fell to the ground on her hands and knees. She heard his   
sword land against the marble bench, where he had thrown it. She sat up.   
  
"You!" Evan snarled and stalked back over to Meaghan. Now she was his   
prey as he came toward her. Meaghan crab walked backwards to get   
away from him but there was no getting away. "Why? Why after all this   
time do the Fates send me you? I was content as I was!"   
  
Evan pulled her from the ground and then shook Meaghan within his   
grasp, clutching her arms.   
  
"Stop it," Meaghan cried, trying to pull away, her head dizzying. Evan   
pulled her closer against him instead.   
  
"Do you know how long it has been since I have let anyone into my   
life? No, of course not, how could you?" Evan said, releasing her   
and stepping to the edge of the clearing, staring at the bush before   
him.   
  
"I'll leave," Meaghan whispered, defeated, beaten in body and soul.   
  
"Will you? " Evan said, his voice icy. " And how do you suppose you   
will survive? Hmm? I'll ask you again. Do you want to leave?"   
  
Meaghan didn't face him and she didn't answer him.   
  
"Do you?" Evan asked, stepping toward her again. Meaghan could   
hear his boots cutting through the grass as he approached her. She   
was trapped, unable to not answer. "What do you want Meaghan? What   
do you want of me?"   
  
"I…" Meaghan stammered. She was swung around, embraced within   
Evan's arms but his eyes did not look down upon her with kindness.   
They were cold, hard, and shuttered.   
  
"What do you want?" Evan asked, whispering in a hard tone. There   
were not even two inches between them. "Tell me!"   
  
"I want yea!" Meaghan declared then reached up and kissed his lips   
She kissed his cheeks his nose, his eyes. She kissed his lips again.   
"I want yea, I love yea. God, Evan, yea know that. Yea know it! I   
love yea."   
  
"I love yea," Meaghan repeated over and over again as she kissed   
him, clasping the sides of his face within her hands. Still he   
remained immobile, his body hard against her.   
  
"You don't love me," He whispered. Meaghan pulled back from him   
and looked into his eyes. He was afraid. She knew it with complete   
certainty. She knew it because it was her own fear that she found   
reflected within his hazel orbs. Like calling to like. It seemed that   
despite himself, his emotions had taken control.   
  
The inscrutable mask had slipped away and there was anguished   
longing reflected in his eyes, his tone, his everything. It was that   
same piece of him that had reached out for her those many times   
before, only now it took control of him. She hadn't been imagining   
it. It was there, stronger then ever before.   
  
"Oh, but I do, I love yea very, very much," Meaghan whispered and   
reached up to kiss his lips again. This time they weren't hard and   
unresponsive.   
  
He kissed her and she him, with such tenderness and suppressed   
longing that Meaghan collapsed her body against him. He crushed   
her to him, lifting her off the ground as their kiss deepened. She   
opened her mouth under his onslaught, for he began to take over   
and kiss her with such passion, such demand that she was unable to   
do anything but respond.   
  
  
She clasped the sides of his face, his hair, clutching at him. The   
need to validate what was happening gripped her. She couldn't   
believe it. She ran her hands over his muscled chest and felt his   
heart beating irrationally fast. Finally, his mouth was upon hers, his   
lips pressed against her own. It wasn't a dream, a fantasy. His   
tongue probed and tangled with her own.   
  
"Evan," she gasped.   
  
Suddenly Evan pushed her away. She fell back with such force that   
she hit the ground.   
  
"No!" Evan declared, his voice cracked, holding a hand out to keep   
her away.   
  
"What?" Meaghan asked confused as she got to her feet again. She   
walked back over to him, reaching. "What is it?"   
  
"No," he said again, freezing her motion. She looked at him and saw   
that the protective shield was in place, if only barely.   
  
"Evan, I love yea." Meaghan said, getting to her feet. The moon   
had risen and the chirping of the birds and insects had faded with the   
last dregs of dusk. Her heart plummeted within her chest. The   
beating was erratic and she fought for control of her rampaging   
emotions.   
  
"You don't love me," Evan said, staring at her, the moonlight clearly   
bathing his face. "You don't even know who I am."   
  
"'Tis a lie!" Meaghan said, hardening her tone as she took a step closer. " I   
do be knowing who yea are."   
  
"You have no idea," Evan said, not moving. "No idea," he repeated   
in a whisper.   
  
"Don't I, Evan Adams?" Meaghan said, hardening her tone to match   
him. This was a fight, a fight that she knew she may not win.   
  
"Aren't yea the man who took me in? Aren't yea the man who   
cared for me? And aren't yea the same man who taught me what   
I was and how ta get about in the world? Wasn't that yea?"   
  
"Anyone of us would have done that," Evan answered, tossing her   
argument away.   
  
"I don't think so. As yea 've said many a times, we live to fight a   
game. How many times have yea told me that it mattered not what   
sex I was, how good I was or how old I was - other immortals would   
come for me. Try to take me head. How many times? Yea could   
have killed me when yea found me, but yea didn't. Then yea went one   
better, yea not only trained me sword arm, but yea trained me mind.   
No where did I hear in yea set of rules that yea been telling me about -   
no where did I hear, 'and thou shall educate thy student.'   
  
"That's not love, that's gratitude you feel." Evan answered.   
  
"Oh , Aye, 'tis gratitude to be sure. I be mighty grateful for yea   
attentions… but that is not the only feeling I be capable of. I love   
yea. There is no one explanation. I love yea fer who yea are."   
  
"Again, you don't know me, not at all." Evan said, crossing his arms   
and watching her.   
  
"I think yea don't know yea self." Meaghan responded, closing the   
distance between them. " Yea don't , do yea?"   
  
Meaghan walked over to him, clasping his folded arms within her   
hands. Evan didn't turn his gaze down, but stared over her head as   
if she wasn't there at all.   
  
"You don't know me. The things I have done…" Evan caught himself   
and looked down upon her. Meaghan met his eyes.   
  
"The things that yea've done? It makes no matter now. I know the   
man yea are today, not what yea were on your many yesterdays.   
Today is what counts, don't yea see that. Me Ma, she used to tell me   
that yea can't change the past and that who you were then is only a   
shadow of who yea are today. A part, not the whole."   
  
"Your mother is a wise woman?" Evan asked.   
  
"Me Ma 'was' a wise woman, " Meaghan corrected. "And her   
wisdom and her love carry me through the hard times that I have   
gone through. I have many shadows that follow me. But they   
aren't who I am now, only a part of who I am."   
  
"So eloquently put," Evan said, pulling from her. Meaghan watched   
him as he backed away. "But she did not have eternity to collect   
shadows. I do and they seem to have over powered me with their   
unrelenting weight."   
  
Meaghan listened. This was the man who stayed hidden most times.   
This was the man who wanted so desperately to be loved. This was   
the man who was filled with fear. She knew him, no matter what he   
said, she knew him. She didn't have to have lived forever to know,   
to understand. She just did.   
  
And the same way that she knew him, she knew what he would say   
and it crushed her heart. But she wouldn't give up, not yet.   
  
"I love yea." Meaghan said again, softly, letting it float through the air   
to reach him, to embrace him in the truth of her feelings.   
  
"You can't, " Evan said, picking up his sword from beneath the   
bench. "it's merely gratitude, nothing more.. you'll come to realize   
that"   
  
"It's not me that needs to realize anything," Meaghan said, her voice  
choked with emotion as she watched him straighten his clothes. She   
looked down at her own ripped and bloodied outfit, smiling faintly.   
  
"Sorry," Evan said. Meaghan looked up.   
  
"I'm not, " Meaghan said. "It has been intolerable between us. Yea   
know that, I know that. I can only tell yea how I feel. I can't make yea   
say the same things or stop yea from denying me. I do know that. But I   
hope yea realize the truth of me words. I hope - that's all I can do."   
  
Meaghan stood before him again, reaching a hand to his face. She   
felt him turn his cheek into her palm. She reached up to kiss his lips   
and he moved to meet her awaiting mouth but stopped, pulling   
away. "No, I… I have to go to town. I… goodbye."   
  
Evan walked out of the garden and back into the maze, moving so   
rapidly that in no time at all, she felt him slip further away, out of   
her sensing range.   
  
Meaghan walked over to the bench and collapsed upon it. She was   
exhausted. She fought one of the hardest fights of her life and the   
outcome was something that wouldn't be known, not yet. Perhaps   
what he needed was time. If he had to get away then that was   
what he had to do. He didn't deny his feelings for her, and she   
knew he felt them. That kiss earlier said it clearer then any words   
could. She would wait. They had all the time in the world, didn't   
they?   
  
  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 


	7. MC 7

Methos tore out of the stable with rapid speed. He didn't wait for   
Liam to saddle the horse, though the boy had run out of the gate   
house to do so. He couldn't be bothered. He had to get away,   
get far away from Byrony... from Meaghan.  
  
Methos tightened the straps upon Fury, flying   
past Liam who held a lantern at the side of the roadway. The  
immortal continued on down the lane, the gravel spraying beneath   
the hooves. The horse and rider casting a shadow in the pale moonlight.  
  
What did she know of him? And yet she claimed to love him, it was a   
joke. Only it seemed the joke was on him, because he half believed   
her.   
  
Methos pushed his horse hard, breaking free of Byrony's grounds   
and galloping through the darkened forest. He would go into town   
and numb his thoughts at the village tavern and maybe even find   
himself a 'lady'.   
  
That was what it was. He hadn't had the company of a woman in   
quite a while. Meaghan had been the only female he had spent   
any considerable time with. Well, her and Catherine, but he could   
hardly... Well, he wouldn't end that thought, instead he pressed onward,   
willing the beast to run faster and place further distance between   
him and Meaghan.   
  
Methos made the long ride to the village within half the time.   
When he arrived the full moon was threading its reach   
through the barren trees, casting spider web shadows upon the   
ground.   
  
Methos left his exhausted stallion with a village boy, paying him the   
required coin to take care of the beast. He couldn't waste one more   
second on sobriety. He entered the dulled, quiet tavern and fell into   
the corner table, waiting for the local barmaid to bring him the draft   
he'd shouted for when he'd entered.   
  
The immortal could feel the villagers' eyes upon him but he didn't   
care. He knew that his presence was a certain type of oddity to   
them, for he hardly ever came down here since Meaghan's arrival... hell,  
even before that. On the rare occasion that he did, never   
did such a foul, black mood surround him. Yes, he knew the picture   
he presented to these people and he didn't care.   
  
It was time for a beer. Methos sprawled out in a chair and stared   
into the crackling fire across the room. He was tired of feeling,   
thinking... he was just tired.   
  
  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------  
  
**************************   
CO. CORK, IRELAND   
CLONAKILTY   
BYRONY ESTATE   
1847: Present   
Byrony's House Garden   
The Next Afternoon  
***************************   
  
Meaghan sat in the garden, kneeling at the foot of   
a rose bed. She reached her gloved hand into the   
soil, pulling up the trespassing roots and tossing   
them into a pile beside her.   
  
She wouldn't think about it anymore...   
  
'God, I could be usin' some Guinness right 'bout   
now,' Meaghan thought as she tried to sniff away an   
itch. She wiped the gloves off on her gardening   
smock then swiped at her face, trying to relieve the itch.   
  
"Damn these gloves," Meaghan cried, frustrated, as   
she pulled them off to get at the sensation.   
  
"Ah yeah, fantastic!" Meaghan sighed as she rubbed   
at her face before turning back to her work. She   
reached down into the bed again and quickly   
withdrew her hand. Holding it up, she saw a   
thorn protruding from her fingertip. She pulled the   
object out and shook her hand to get rid of the   
pain.   
  
"Och," Meaghan muttered. She saw a drop of blood   
pool, but the prick was gone as a crackle of white   
Quickening sealed the wound. Meaghan was getting   
used to it by now. Her spars with Evan were   
always intense.   
  
Evan! Meaghan, wondered where he went.   
  
She stabbed at the dirt, piercing it with her   
shovel. "Forget 'im, then."   
  
Meaghan dropped her head to her chest. She couldn't   
believe he didn't come back last night.   
  
What she really couldn't believe was that he didn't believe   
she loved him. God, every waking moment she seemed   
to think on him.   
  
Meaghan growled in frustration, tossing the shovel   
down and getting to her feet. She straightened her   
dress out as she began to pace That man could be so   
infuriating, positively infuriating! His staying away   
just made her angry confusion grow. She had no idea   
where he went or how long he would be.   
  
She froze her movements as she remembered the last   
few moments before he left. She'd leaned up to kiss   
his lips, but then she also remembered him pulling   
away from her at the very last - the very last - moment  
before their lips met.   
  
Meaghan paused, giving a growl before she picked up   
the pace again.   
  
She loved Byrony... loved the estate and her time   
with Evan. She cherished that time together...when   
he would read to her, and she to him. When they   
drank together and not to mention his apparent   
amazement that she could drink just as much as he.   
When they sparred and he pushed her harder and made   
her better.. he was tender then, tender and   
guiding... never cruel.   
  
Something happened to make him run from her and her   
words. Was it life itself? She hoped not, for what   
did that say about her future? He was hurt. He   
needed to be alone, this she believed. She only   
hoped that he realized the truth of her feelings.   
  
'Immortality was just too hard to fathom or believe   
until you are confronted with it in the form of   
healing wounds or the presence of Evan,' she   
thought... remembering the Quickening sensation   
that crawled over her skin to settle between her   
temples every time he was near., "That nigh drives   
me insane."   
  
Meaghan's head shot up as the fore-mentioned   
sensation tingled around her skin.   
  
"Evan, " she called out. Meaghan walked beyond the   
greenery, catching her skirt in her hands. She cut   
around the English maze to greet him.   
  
"Evan." She called, turning around to greet him.   
She saw the back of a man that most definitely was   
not Evan.   
  
Meaghan froze. Evan's voice rang out clear in her   
mind, stating the rules of the game. The most   
important rule to her now rung the loudest.   
  
"You are safe on holy ground, no one can fight   
there."   
  
Meaghan's spine straightened, secure that she would   
not have to prove herself and die. One thing Evan taught   
her was that she was far from as good as she'd thought she   
was. For once she was glad that the English had taken over   
and converted this Irish Abby.   
  
"What do yea want?" she asked poised with her hands   
behind her back.   
  
The man turned slowly around. She noted from his   
garb that he did not appear to be from the area and   
her suspicions were correct when she heard him   
speak.. his voice definitely not Irish... possibly   
English.   
  
"What do I want," the man asked in low mocking   
tones. He walked up to her. Meaghan made to back   
away but his hand snaked out and clasped her   
forearm.   
  
"What if I were to say you?" he asked, his breath   
fanning her face.   
  
"I'd be sayin' yea'd surely be disappointed," she   
scathed, her temper rising at being handled. She   
swore she would never let that happen again, 'Not   
ever,' she thought remembering the workhouses.   
  
"Ah, quite a bit of fire in you, Methos always did   
like that in his women," remarked the man, "Oh, I   
am sorry, I mean, what was it you called him?   
Evan?"   
  
The man laughed, a low rumble in his throat.   
  
"Yea can't be doin' nothin' here, tis 'oly ground,"   
Meaghan informed, her struggles having ceased.   
  
"Yes, you are right," agreed the man, stepping closer to   
her, his lips mere inches from her own, his eyes penetrating   
her. "What is to stop me from pulling you off holy ground... hmm?   
It's only a few metres away, isn't it? I could have your worthless   
little head as I wait for your lord and master."   
  
"He be no master to me," Meaghan snarled," Yea asked me   
what 'twas ta stop yea from pullin' me off holy ground, well, I'll   
tell yea."   
  
The man cocked an eyebrow.   
  
With her free arm, Meaghan reached behind her, into the folds   
of her skirt, pulling out her concealed sword and letting it   
hang behind her back. She smiled sweetly at the man,   
stepping closer.   
  
The man's eyes narrowed, suspicion darkening his face.   
  
Meaghan widened the smile as, quick and sure, she buried the   
sword into the immortal's stomach. The man did not let her go   
as he grunted in pain. If anything his grip on her increased as he   
dislodged the weapon from his gut.   
  
He breathed heavy, holding the bloodied blade in his fist. His   
eyes bathed her in unconcealed hatred.   
  
"I see he is already trying to teach you his tricks," the man   
sneered, dropping the sword a few feet away." But it won't work,   
I know them all already."   
  
Meaghan let out a whimper as she felt the bones in her upper   
arm start to crack within his grasp. He pushed her away   
from his body, yet kept his fingers firmly wrapped around her   
arm. Meaghan began to feel pain radiate from where he held her  
in his calloused grip. He withdrew a dagger from his belt and   
held it up to inspect it, He looked from the dagger to her and   
back to the dagger again. Finally he spoke.   
  
"You know, It was a pleasure sharing this time with you, but I do   
think that I am done here, " said the man.   
  
"Tell Methos, I mean "Evan" this message." He grabbed her face   
with his hands, the dagger tangled within his fingers and   
pressing against the side of her face. He pulled her head   
to his lips, his words whispered into her ear. He pullled back,   
then paused looking her over. Meaghan stared at his   
scarred face. "My, but you are a beautiful one."   
  
He looked to the dagger again. "But, I guess you won't be able   
to tell him, will you." He raised the dagger to her throat.   
  
Meaghan thoughts were frantic,yet she was paralyzed by   
fear. Her mouth opened and closed, no words issuing   
forth. Her body trembled as her mind screamed that he   
couldn't, that she was safe... It was holy ground, finally   
the words shouted out of her.   
  
"The rules!! You can't!!! 'Tis holy ground," she cried,   
her face composed of sheer terror.   
  
"Meaghan! Meaghan!!! Yea get away from her! Yea get away   
from her right now!!" Catherine yelled as she came charging   
toward them.   
  
"Catherine, get out of here. Don't..." Meaghan screamed. She   
quickly turned, looking to the immortal. He no longer held the   
knife to her throat but his grip on her was fierce.   
  
"CATHERINEEEEEE!!!!!" Meaghan screamed as she saw   
him raise the dagger back and aim it at the woman. Please   
God, don't take her away, one family was enough, one family   
was ENOUGH! Meaghan snapped out of her thoughts and   
screamed again, reaching for the man's raised   
arm. "NOoooooooOOO!!!!"   
  
Meaghan struggled to stop him... she could see his intent. He   
turned back toward Meaghan. "No, yea can't kill her, she   
not be one of us... this has nothing to do with her." Meaghan   
cried.   
  
The immortal pushed her down to the ground, the lawn   
pressed against her cheek. He bent close to her ear." You are   
right young one, she's not one of us, the rules do not apply to   
her...Gods but that's invigorating! Don't you think?" And with   
that, knocked her head, using the end of her dagger handle. Meaghan   
fell into darkness, her last thought was screaming   
out Catherine's name.   
  
  
  
  
-----------------------------------------------  
  
****************   
Clonakilty, Ireland   
Later that day   
Byrony Estate   
****************   
  
"Ohhhh, Nooo, oh no" Meaghan cried. She was a crumbled   
heap sitting on the ground, cradling Catherine to her   
chest."Ohh no, nooo" was her constant chant, as she rocked to   
and fro. Meaghan stared into Catherine's smooth, too peaceful   
features. She grabbed the silenced woman tighter to her,   
rocking harder.   
  
Meaghan sat in the garden, oblivious of time as it swept past   
her. All she thought was that she'd lost another one.   
  
"MEAGHAN!" She heard the call before she sensed him. She   
tried to answer but a whispery croak was all that came out of   
her tear - choked throat.   
  
"MEAGHAN!!!" Evan cried out for her again, finally he stood   
before her rocking figure. She heard his footsteps slow on the   
grass. She didn't look up, she couldn't take her eyes off of   
Catherine.   
  
"Evan," She whispered as she continued to rock her. "I... "   
  
"Gods!" Evan fell to his knees before her, he reached out and   
grabbed the hand that clasped Catherine's.   
  
"Shhh," he whispered as he extricated her fingers from   
Catherine's, "You have to let her go. Come, give her to me."   
  
Meaghan paid little notice to the blood that drenched her   
chest and lap as she held Catherine's body... but when she   
looked up, she did note that Evan's clothes were covered in   
blood.   
  
"Did yea kill him?" She asked, her voice hoarse as she   
stared at Evan's bloodied wardrobe.   
  
"Him?" He questioned, looking at her.   
  
"Yea clothes," she replied. She watched as Evan looked   
down at his attire.   
  
"No... I... I found Liam... at the stable. He's dead." Evan answered.   
  
"What!" was Meaghan's strangled cry, "No, not Liam!"   
  
Evan gave a shake to his head, confirming what he'd said. She   
shuddered to ask, but was unable not to. "Thomas?"   
  
"I found him at the front door.. He.." Evan paused. Meaghan   
could see him swallowing, and then taking a deep breath. She   
heard a hard finality inflect his voice. "They are all dead."   
  
"Dead?" Meaghan whispered, clutching Catherine's still hand   
again. She looked down upon the woman who had swiftly   
became a surrogate mother, friend, confidant. Then there was   
Liam and Thomas, parts of her new family... all gone.   
  
Gone.   
  
Was life always so fleeting, so short, so... devastating?   
  
"Meaghan," Evan intruded upon her thoughts," You have to let   
her go." Meaghan still held Catherine, staring beyond Evan,   
seeing nothing in particular. Finally, her eyes focused and she   
looked upon him. Abruptly she said, "He had a message for   
you."   
  
"He? The man who did this?" Evan asked kneeling before her.   
  
"He said, 'I just missed him in London, but do tell   
Methos, Kronos says, 'Greetings brother.' "   
  
She watched him as she spoke. Evan froze, immobile. She saw   
his skin blanche, turning an unnatural shade of white. He finally   
closed his eyes and shook his head. She could swear she saw   
him shudder. She waited for him to speak, but he remained   
silent.   
  
"Evan?" Meaghan asked, watching him. Finally he looked up   
and she saw for the first time since knowing Evan, for the first, a   
real fear mark his features. It near rippled off of him.   
  
"So, he's the one that's been tracking me," Evan said in a whisper.   
  
He shook his head. Starting to reach a shaking hand out to her, Evan   
quickly withdrew it.   
  
Meaghan turned her attention back to Catherine. She reached   
a hand over her face, sliding it down from her forehead, across   
her eyes, down her nose and over her lips. It was an action   
that she had done many times with her own family. It was the   
Kineally way of saying good-bye.   
  
"I hold yea face in me hand and in me heart," Meaghan whispered.   
  
Suddenly, she caught her breath, then slowly   
released it. It felt like a dam breaking within her. It was   
all too much, everything was too much. She couldn't,   
wouldn't, handle it... not anymore.   
  
******************************************************************   
FLASHBACK   
EARLY AUGUST:1846   
  
"Yea always have been the strong one. I suppose I knew   
yea would be...me Meaghan, me mighty one." Mary Kineally   
whispered.   
******************************************************************   
  
Her mother's words filled her ears, echoing through the   
cavern of memories.   
  
"I can't be mighty Ma, not anymore... not anymore." Meaghan   
said, her voice flat and hoarse, barely above a whisper. Her   
vision tunneled, tears slid down her cheeks, "'Tis too   
much, too much..."   
  
"Meaghan?" Evan called, trying to break through her ramblings.   
  
Meaghan sat upon the ground. She saw nothing as the world   
faded around her. She huddled herself into an area in her   
mind where pain and devastation could never touch her, never.   
  
"Too much...too much..." 


	8. MC 8

And then she was gone, right before his very   
eyes. He knelt beside her.   
  
Meaghan held Catherine cradled within her   
arms, but so very loosely now. Methos gently   
pulled Catherine from her grasp. The young   
immortal offered no resistence as her fingers   
slipped free from the elder woman's body.   
  
Mindless of the blood or the actual sight before   
him, Methos set to work. He did not allow himself   
the luxury of reflection or emotion. He needed   
to attend to the O'Sheas.  
  
Meaghan and him were leave Byrony behind.   
  
It was the best thing to do. It was the only   
thing to do. Kronos was still out there, waiting,   
watching to see what should be his next move.   
  
Methos knew his brother well.  
  
Placing an unresisting Meaghan in the library,   
he set her down upon the long couch. She   
curled up on her side, her face partially   
obscured beneath the curtain of her black   
hair. He looked around the room, thought about   
starting a fire but noted that they wouldn't   
be at Byrony long enough to enjoy it.  
  
Methos could not help himself from remembering   
Meaghan's revelation. At the mention of   
Kronos' name, he'd felt eviscerated, ripped   
from knave to neck by a fear so intense that   
proper thought could not actually describe   
it. Kronos, here, at Byrony, and free from   
where he had left him those many years ago.   
Methos shuddered again as ice cold sweat   
coated and itched its way between his   
shoulder blades.  
  
He shook himself. There was no time for   
thoughts. No time.   
  
Methos continued with his set task. He   
didn't think about how easily the earth gave  
against his shovel. Nor did he think about   
how the garden seemed the most appropriate   
spot to lay the O'Sheas to rest.   
  
He did not think about the awkward weight   
of young Liam, nor of his father, Thomas,   
as he carefully laid them in their graves,   
the ground moist and greedy. He did not   
think upon Catherine as he gently touched   
her already chilled cheek or when he bent his   
head and squeezed his eyes against the pain   
that looking at her now caused.   
  
No, he did not think on those things.   
  
As Methos continued to dig the graves, one   
unrelenting thought had pushed its way to   
the fore front of a mirad of contemplations   
laying seige upon the oldest immortal. How?   
  
How was it possible? How did Kronos get   
out? How did he find him? Why had his "brother"   
been playing such a game of cat and mouse.   
And perhaps most important: Why hadn't he   
killed him?  
  
But Methos had the answer to that. Kronos   
didn't kill him, opting instead to destroy   
everything around Methos. Everything he   
might have cherished, including the present   
life he led.  
  
It was what Methos would have done, and perhaps   
that was why Kronos had done it, destroyed   
Methos at his own games -- albeit games he   
no longer played.  
  
Kronos had known Methos well, and as such   
Kronos must also know that within hours   
Methos would be gone. One thing that his   
brother didn't know was that he would not   
be finding Methos again.  
  
*********************  
  
  
Later that evening, using the veil of   
a moonless night, Methos packed the   
unresisting Meaghan into a carriage and   
stole away from Byrony.  
  
Meaghan spoke not a word throughout the   
following arduous journey. The two immortals   
left Ireland from the port of Clonakilty,   
sailing across to England. The journey   
was short and desperately silent. They   
had boarded the sailing ship, "Serenity's   
Ghost" as Mr. and Mrs. Danbridge. It was   
literally as if Methos kept company with   
a doll. He did not trust the idea of   
leaving her alone. Methos kept to himself,   
attending to Meaghan rather then trifle with  
any other passangers on the ship.  
  
When they arrived in England, Methos bought   
two horses and a riding gig. Throughout the   
whole journey, Meaghan followed, did what   
was asked of her, ate when food was placed   
before her but remained ever silent. She   
was a shadow, a living ghost. No amount of   
talking, prodding -- anything would have   
her respond to Methos. So he stopped trying.  
  
Her wall of silence was unbreachable. Not   
that he could really explain anything to  
her, anyway. Explanations would not better   
the situation and he wasn't willing to   
volunteer them either. There was nothing   
he could say. His past had come and wrapped   
itself around him -- exploding. The   
fallout had destroyed his present, making   
a mockery of his relaxed sense of security.   
It had been a mistake, something that   
didn't often happen.   
  
Finally they had arrived at their destination. It   
was an estate set back among a bordering forest   
of trees. Methos pulled up to the front door   
of the grand house and dismounted riding seat   
of the carriage. He left Meaghan inside as   
he approached the door, the gravel walkway   
crunching beneath his high boots.   
  
Methos knocked upon the front door and   
waited. Finally the door opened and a   
butler stepped through the doorway.   
  
"May I help you, sir?"asked the man.  
  
"Yes, I am here to see your Master," Methos replied.  
  
"Is he expecting you?"  
  
"I highly doubt it."  
  
"Who should I say is calling?" the butler   
asked, unfazed.  
  
"A friend."  
  
"Very good sir, please wait here." The butler   
closed the door and Methos turned to look   
back at the carriage. There was no movement   
from within, which was just as he expected.  
  
Suddenly, he froze as a new thrumming sensation   
of an immortal washed over him. Methos slowly   
turned his head back toward the door, his   
hand resting on the sheathed hilt of his   
sword, ready to pull it free at a moment's   
notice. The door opened.  
  
"Sean, it's good to see you." Methos said,   
reaching out and clasping the psychartrist's hand.   
  
"Methos, it is good to see you once   
again. You are feeling well, aren't   
you?" The doctor asked, suddenly concerned.   
  
"For the moment," Methos replied, trying   
to smile but not quite managing it. "Come, I   
have someone I want for you to meet."  
  
"Of course."   
  
Sean Burns followed Methos to the carriage. The  
doctor paused but a second as Meaghan's   
presence washed over him.  
  
"I cannot help her," Methos began, opening the   
door and reaching a hand in. Meaghan grabbed   
it. He helped her out of the coach. "She   
is. . . lost."  
  
Methos felt his heart sinking, remembering   
not too long ago when Sean Burns had helped   
him to be found again. It was a long, hard   
road that was not easy to think on even   
though it had been more than three hundred   
years ago.   
  
"What happened to her?" Sean asked, stepping   
toward her.  
  
"Kronos happened to her."  
  
Sean quickly whipped his head around and   
looked Methos in the eyes. "Indeed?"  
  
"Yes, I know some details, not all. I was   
away when it happened. Meaghan is my   
student," Methos informed Sean, answering   
his silent question. "Her name is Meaghan   
Marie Kineally. I found her in Ireland, she   
has been with me over a year and been   
immortal for just about as long."  
  
Sean stepped toward Meaghan and raised his   
hands to her face, looking in her eyes,   
eyes that did not look back, lost in an   
inward void. Methos turned away and continued   
on.  
  
"I don't know how Kronos escaped, how he   
found me. I will tell you all I know. Kronos   
was but the last of a long line of "experiences"   
to happen to her." Methos concluded, for now.  
  
"Let's bring her in, get her situatuated   
so that you and I can talk and best determine   
how to proceed with her." Sean suggested,   
wrapping an arm around Meaghan's unresisting   
shoulders. They walked into the house as a   
livery boy came forth and led the horses and   
carriage away.  
  
* * * * * * * 


End file.
